


The Golden Hour

by Ghost_in_the_Hella



Series: Time After Time [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, First Date, Fluff, Little bit sweary, Photography, Photography date, Probably too much flirting, So much flirting, Some brief angst but mostly fluff, Time Travel, Time Travel Fluff, past amberprice, pricefield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-06-06 20:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15203054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost_in_the_Hella/pseuds/Ghost_in_the_Hella
Summary: “This may come as a shock to you, Max, but some of us don’t have all the time in the world.” Chloe chuckles. “Honestly, only you could have the power to rewind time and still be late for a date.”“Oh, I’m sure if you had time powers, you’d still manage to-- wait, for a what now?”---The "golden hour" is a photographer's dream. And when the photographer in question is a time traveler, who says it ever has to end?





	1. Stay Gold

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in an AU without the storm, but otherwise basically the same universe: Max still has time powers (obviously, since the premise is literally built around them) and polaroid film is still apparently readily available and develops more quickly than in real life.
> 
> First chapter is 100% fluff. You're welcome.

Chloe’s never been good at keeping surprises from Max. She gets too excited and gives the game away immediately. So when Max gets into the truck and Chloe is already bouncing in her seat, she knows she’s got something big up her sleeve.

“It’s about time, hippie! Didja remember to bring your camera?”

Max rolls her eyes. “I know you only texted me _five times_ to bring it, but yes, somehow I managed to remember.” She sets her messenger bag on the floor between her feet.

“And the, fuck, the film or photo paper or whatever it is you analog nerds use, right? Lots of it?”

“As requested, I brought ‘as much as my bony ass can carry.’ So are you going to te--”

Chloe peels out of the parking lot almost before Max has had a chance to settle into her seat.

“Woah, take it easy! What’s the hurry?” Max grips the door for dear life.

“This may come as a shock to you, Max, but some of us don’t have all the time in the world.” Chloe chuckles. “Honestly, only you could have the power to rewind time and _still_ be late for a date.”

“Oh, I’m sure if you had time powers, you’d still manage to-- wait, for a what now?”

Chloe rolls down her window and cranks up the radio. “Mind if I smoke?” She lights up without waiting for an answer, which is probably for the best since Max’s mouth is still hanging open wordlessly as her mind attempts to catch up.

Chloe may be bad at keeping surprises from Max, but somehow she’s still good at keeping her guessing. Max thinks back, trying to remember if at any point Chloe had given the slightest indication that she was asking Max out on an actual date. Her texts had been very emphatic about certain points - the camera, the film, and the time - but maddeningly vague and elusive as to the specifics.

Most likely, Max reasons, this is simply Chloe being Chloe: saying something just suggestive enough to catch her off balance. She’s been like this for as long as Max has known her, after all: saying things and doing things that she knows will get a reaction from her more straight-laced friend. It’s been sort of different since Max’s return to Arcadia Bay, but she assumes it comes from the same impulse. Whether she’s tossing out the worst curse words she knows, “borrowing” a bottle of Joyce’s wine, or - as has been the case since Max’s return - randomly saying flirtatious things, Chloe’s intent always seems to be the same: to fluster Max. At least, Max assumes that that’s as far as Chloe’s intentions go. Because otherwise that would mean that Chloe’s actually been flirting with her since she came back, and that would be almost terrifyingly amazing.

Max decides not to press the “date” question, since the word was most likely dropped as a diversion, and instead starts trying to dig more information out of Chloe. With the cigarette to occupy her lips, Chloe manages to keep herself from blurting out every detail of her plans before they get to their destination, despite Max’s prying questions. That she’s able to confine herself to exaggerated eyebrow gestures and an intimidatingly self-satisfied grin is an impressive improvement over her childhood secret-keeping skills. After a few minutes, Max gives up asking anything and just tries to enjoy the ride. It’s a little too loud and a little too fast, the way everything with Chloe usually is, and that in itself is oddly comforting.

And then suddenly the ride is over. “So, what d’you think? Pretty good, right?”

They’re parked at the beach and as far as Max can tell, there’s nothing unusual about it. The sun is hanging low over the water, bathing everything in gorgeous golden light, and it’s a hell of a view but it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. But Chloe looks so pleased with herself, Max is sure she must be missing something. “It’s… the beach?”

“The _light_!” Chloe gestures across the shoreline. “You photography dorks call it the ‘golden hour,’ right? It makes everything look magical and shit?”

“Right…”

“So I’m gonna look super hot in it. C’mon! Grab your camera and let’s roll.” Chloe bounds out of the truck while Max is still fumbling with the strap of her messenger bag. “Move it, Caulfield! Don’t wanna lose that light.”

By the time Max joins her, Chloe is already unzipping the duffle bag that’s sitting in the bed of her truck. “So this is, what… a photo shoot?”

Chloe whips out a pair of aviator shades and puts them on in a single fluid motion that she’s obviously been practicing, and okay, yeah, she maybe has a point about her looking super hot in this light. “Correction, my dear Watson. This is _the_ photo shoot. The greatest. Photo shoot. _Ever_.” She spreads her arms wide to embrace the entire waterscape. “You’ve got a beautiful beach… A beautiful model…”

“Modest, too.”

“And,” Chloe says in the voice she always uses when she knows she’s about to land a winning point, “you’ve got the photographer’s dream: you’ve got the golden hour... for as long as you want it.”

“I… what?” The penny drops. “Wait… Are you seriously suggesting--”

“That’s the trouble with the golden hour, right? You’ve only got so much time to get that perfect shot before the light goes.” Chloe puts her hand on Max’s shoulder. “But not you. Tonight, you get to keep the golden hour until you get the perfect picture. Or pictures. As many as you want. Even if it takes all night.”

Chloe looks much too pleased with herself. Even Max’s hesitation doesn’t make her confident smile waver.

“Chloe… That’s… really sweet of you, but… Are you sure about this?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m sure about this! I’m hella sure! I’ve been planning it for three days! That's, like, three days longer than I plan _anything_!” She pats the duffle bag. “I’ve got costumes and everything. Think about it, Max! You know I always get bored when you take pictures for too long. If you keep rewinding, I won’t have time to get bored. You get to take pictures for as long as you want and I get my ego stroked for thirty, forty minutes. That’s a win for both of us.”

Max chuckles and shakes her head fondly. “You’re something else, Chloe Price.”

“And don’t you forget it. So, where do you want me?” She takes a few steps back toward the water as Max pulls out her camera, stepping off the pavement of the parking lot and into the sand. She pauses and a slightly puzzled look crosses her face. “Wait, shit… Did we already start?”

“No.”

She relaxes and smiles. “Okay, cool. Just checking.”

The shutter clicks. “Now we’ve started.” Max gives the photograph a gentle shake and looks at it. The beach is always beautiful, Chloe’s always beautiful, hell, the light in Arcadia Bay is always beautiful, but Chloe was right: there is something absolutely magical about the way she looks in this moment, in this light.

Max starts off shy. She’s always been more of a candid photographer, waiting for the right moment to happen on its own, and has never felt fully comfortable telling people how to pose or what to do. It was easier, when they were younger, to direct Chloe. As much as Chloe liked to be in charge and could be sort of bossy, she was always game to do whatever Max suggested, and it gave Max a certain measure of confidence that she didn’t normally have with other people. But so many years have passed and so much has changed that Max has a hard time finding that confidence right away, even with her old friend.

Luckily, Chloe is full of energy and ideas, and she’s happy to strike pose after pose with minimal guidance. Most of the time she’s clowning for the camera, turning clumsy cartwheels in the sand, soaking up the attention like a sponge and pulling goofy faces to make Max laugh. But mixed in with the pile of silly pictures that Max knows were probably a waste of film but couldn’t resist taking anyway there are a couple of gems. Chloe leaning up against the side of her truck, her jacket slung over her shoulder and a cigarette dangling from her lips, looking like James Dean. Chloe sitting on the hood of the truck, staring out into the Bay like she’s waiting for her ship to finally come in. That first picture of the day, Chloe’s smile, quick and genuine before she started posing.

It takes a little over half an hour for the light to start to fade into sunset. It’s still beautiful, but the low light is harder for Max to capture with her camera’s limitations. “Show me the pictures?” Max lays them out in the truck bed for Chloe to look at and laugh over. Max snaps one more, Chloe’s profile as she admires Max’s work. She smiles, startled. “Not bad, hipster. But I think we can do better. So… ‘Rewind’ time?”

“You _really_ don’t mind?”

“It was _my_ idea, Max. Just… maybe don’t rewind if something really awesome happens, okay?”

“Like what?”

Chloe shrugs. “I dunno. We find buried treasure? Seagull takes a dump on your head?”

Max laughs. “Okay, sure. That seems fair.” She packs the photos back into her bag and turns back to Chloe. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Time throbs, then yields. Minutes slip by quickly in reverse. The sun slides up from the water. The air changes color. Max sees Chloe step forward, away from the water. She stops.

“And don’t you forget it. So, where do you want me?” Chloe steps backward, toward the water, then pauses, that same puzzled look crossing her face. “Wait, shit… Did we already start?”

“Yup.” The shutter clicks. “Welcome back, Chloe van Winkle. We’ve been taking pictures for a hundred years.”

Chloe’s smile has an edge of uncertainty to it. “Damn, you really are hardcore. You’re fucking with me, right?”

“This is only round two.”

Chloe laughs. “This is what I get for hanging out with time travelers. We really already started?” Max opens up her messenger bag and tips it toward Chloe, who peeks inside. Her eyes widen when she sees the small pile of photographs. “Oh, shit! Man, I never get used to this. Oh! Wait! I’ve got an idea!” Chloe dashes around the truck to the passenger’s side and rattles around in the glovebox. She returns with a pad of paper and a tiny pencil, both clearly liberated from a miniature golf course. “So, Time Maxster, what happens if I write notes to myself, and then you rewind?”

“Then you would unwrite notes to yourself.”

Chloe frowns and thinks for a minute. “Okay, but you don’t untake the pictures, so… What if I write notes, and then you hold onto them?”

Max contemplates this. Things she keeps on her person don’t seem to be affected by the time travel, so: “Theoretically, that might work.”

Chloe immediately starts scribbling something onto the top piece of paper. “Alright, let’s test this.” She hands it over to Max. “No peeking. These are private notes from Future Chloe to Past Chloe. Got it?”

“Got it.” Max slips the paper and pencil into her bag.

“So… ‘Rewind?’ I want to see if it works.”

Max sighs, then obliges. Time slips backward, but not far. Chloe steps toward her, away from the water. Max stops. “So, where do you want me?” She starts to step back again, but Max reaches into her bag and pulls out the notepad.

“Here, read this.”

The look of puzzlement is deeper this time. Chloe takes the note from Max and reads it, then laughs. “Oh, shit, cool, I’m a genius!” She hands it back and Max replaces it in her bag. “So, round two, then?”

Max finds herself having to give Chloe more direction the second time around. Even though she knows that for Chloe it’s in a very real way the first time she’s been in front of the camera today, she’s still amazed by how consistent she is. If Max doesn’t start using her voice, she’ll end up with nothing but the same pictures over and over again. She works with it at first, finding different angles to take on more or less the same poses. Gradually she builds up her courage and starts taking the lead more, suggesting different ways for Chloe to stand, different directions for her to look, different things for her to think about. Chloe stops running around like a golden retriever off its lead and settles into the role of model more seriously.

The sun dips down below the horizon and the light shifts. Max spreads out the photos from this shoot, then, at Chloe’s request, shows her the first ones as well.

“Jeez, I’m such a dork.”

Max pushes her gently. “It’s sweet. You were trying to put me at ease. It worked.”

Chloe gestures to the later pictures. “These are so much better, though. When I’m not acting like a total goon.”

Max touches a couple of the earlier pictures. “I don’t know, some of these are… I _like_ it when you’re being silly.”

Chloe reaches out her hand. “Notepad?” She scribbles for a few seconds, then hands it back to Max. She puts it away in her bag, along with the photographs. “So. ‘Rewind’ time?”

The sunset rises. The light turns gold again.


	2. Pirate Rocker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The golden hour lives on. Rounds 3 and 4.

“Wait, shit… Did we already start?”

“Round three.” Max holds out the notepad to Chloe.

“What the shit is this?”

“Hell if I know; you won’t let me read it.”

Chloe takes the notepad and scans it quickly. A look of amusement crosses her face, then she purses her lips briefly in thought. She hands the notepad back. “Okay then. Round three it is.” She tugs at the front of her tank top. “Hey, Max? This is the same outfit I drove here in.”

“So?”

“Hang on, I brought tons of other stuff…” Max follows her to the back of the truck, where Chloe starts rifling through the duffle bag. “What do you want? Rawk star? Rugged pirate?”

Max giggles. “You can just be Chloe.”

Chloe responds with a sly smile and an arched eyebrow. “So... both, then?” She takes off the aviators and starts pulling clothes out of the bag. “I can work with that. Keep an eye out for creepers, wouldja?” She shrugs off her black jacket, then seizes the hem of her tank top.

Max’s eyes go wide. “You’re going to get changed right _here_?”

“I mean, yeah, by the time I go anywhere else we’ll lose the light. What’s the big deal? You’ve lived through this time before, right?”

“Yeah, and?”

“And does anyone come by?”

“No, but--”

“So it’s fine!” As Chloe starts to change her shirt, Max turns around almost quickly enough to hide her blush. Chloe snickers. “Fuck’s sake, Max! You saw this much when we went swimming. Of course, I was wearing a bra then…”

“Nice try, but you’re not going to trick me into turning around. I know you’re wearing a bra: your straps are always hanging out.”

The sound of a zipper. “Ah, but am I wearing underwear?”

“ _Chloe_!”

“Okay, _Mom_. Jeez, you’re such a prude. You keep an eye out for the Moral Majority and I’ll get some pants on.”

Max is never sure how much of Chloe’s teasing is bluster and how much, if any, of it is real. Real or not, it’s enough to make her entire face glow an incriminating shade of red. She focuses on cooling that down, and she’s almost got it under control by the time Chloe calls out, “Ta da!”

All of Max’s hard work controlling her blush goes out the door when she turns around to find Chloe looking, as promised, something like the lead singer of a pirate-themed rock band: black leather pants and a vest that nearly matches it, a sash slung around her hips, a strategically torn band t-shirt, her beanie replaced by a bandana with - of course - a jolly roger on it, and an all-too-familiar eyepatch. Chloe gives a slow twirl to allow Max to fully appreciate the effect. “So? What do yaaaaarr think?”

“ _Wowser_ ,” Max breathes, her words chased by a truly embarrassing giggle.

“It’s not too much, is it?”

Max raises her camera and Chloe automatically strikes a dramatic pose. “On anybody else, it might be. But on you…” The shutter clicks. “It’s perfect.” She gives the photo a flick of the wrist as it develops. “In fact, I was wondering why you didn’t go the full mile and wear your old captain’s hat.”

“Oh, believe me, I considered it. But it finally got too small for my head.”

“You mean your head got too big.”

Chloe feigns indignation. “Well, I never!”

Max snaps her picture.

It’s easier now, directing Chloe when she’s got a character to play. It’s still mostly silly, but Max feels more like she’s part of the absurdity now instead of documenting it from the outside. She leans into it. It’s comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that Max finally decides to bring up something that’s been nagging at the back of her mind since the drive over.

“So, Chloe…”

“That’s Captain Bluebeard to ya, landlubber!”

“So, Captain Bluebeard…”

“Yaaarr?” Chloe stares down at her expectantly from her perch atop the truck bed, where she’s been obligingly pretending to walk the plank.

Max frames her carefully. It’s suddenly difficult because her hands have picked up a slight tremor as her heartbeat accelerates with nervousness. “On the way over here, when you were ragging on me for being late… You, uh, you called this a date.”

Max wishes she’d asked Chloe to take off that stupid eyepatch. She can’t read her expression with it on. “Did I?” There’s a flicker of a smile, but Max can’t tell if it’s teasing or nervous or what.

“You did. So… is it?”

Chloe doesn’t say anything for a minute, and it’s strange, Chloe being silent. She spreads her arms again, like she’s balancing on a tightrope, and takes another step toward the edge of the truck bed. “Depends on you, doesn’t it?” she says finally.

Max’s heart is pounding in her ears, and her hands are definitely shaking too much to take the picture. “C-could you please take off that eyepatch for a minute?”

Chloe looks evasive, but after a moment’s hesitation she reaches up and flips up the eyepatch so Max can look her in the eyes. And Max knows she isn’t teasing now. She’s nervous. Waiting.

“Yeah,” Max says with an intoxicating rush of relief. “It’s a date.”

At that, Chloe absolutely beams. She’s still a bit absurd - with her bandana and the red impression of the eyepatch on her face - but she’s mostly gorgeous: she’s blue and gold and lighting up with joy. Max takes the picture. Her hands are still shaky, so it comes out blurred and fuzzy, but it’s still her favorite so far today.

“Cool,” Chloe says, still beaming. “Let me be the first to congratulate you on your excellent taste in women.”

Max laughs. “Thanks. Now hurry up and walk that plank, ye scurvy dog.”

Chloe flips the eyepatch back down and steps to the edge of the truck bed. She sticks out one leg as if to step off the end. She’s trying to look like she’s anticipating the shock of cold water below, the inevitable sharks lurking in the depths, but she can’t quite keep the smile from her lips.

Max takes her shot.

Nothing changes, but everything’s different. It’s the same old Chloe, showing off for the camera and making bad pirate jokes. It’s the same old Max behind the camera, giving her direction and laughing at her jokes no matter how bad they are. But there’s a shift in tone, a feeling under every word and every movement that’s as if a stone has been lifted. There’s a giddiness, a lightness.

At first Max assumes that it’s all in her head, but she can see it in the photographs when she spreads them out for Chloe to review. It’s in the way Chloe looks at her.

“Damn, we should do this more often. I forgot what an awesome pirate I make.”

Max nudges her with her elbow. “I didn’t.”

Chloe nudges back. She glances to where the sun is just touching the edge of the water. “So, want any more badass pirate poses before it’s time to hit the rewind button?”

“You still want to rewind?” Max eyes her skeptically.

“You’ve got more film, don’t you? And I’ve got more outfits. Why, are you getting sick of me already?”

“No! I just…” Max leans into her a little. “I don’t want you to forget we’re on a date.”

“Aw, you’re such a goop. I won’t forget. You think I put three days of planning into something I _don’t_ consider a date?” She puts out her hand. “Notepad?”

A minute later and half an hour earlier, Chloe gives a slow twirl. “So? What do yaaaaarr think?”

“I think you’re amazing, Chloe Price.”

Chloe falters a little but looks pleased. “That’s Captain Bluebeard, ya mushy landlubber.” Max hands her the notepad. “Aw, did we do pirate rocker already? Damn, I was looking forward to that.” She reads her notes and a huge grin spreads over her face. She glances up at Max. “No shit? It’s a date?”

The look in Chloe’s eyes gives Max butterflies. “It’s definitely a date.”

“Nice! I knew this was a great idea.” She hands back the notepad, and if her fingers linger a little longer than normal when they brush against Max’s, Max isn’t about to call her out on it. “So, rock star pirate?”

“As much fun as it’s been hanging out with Captain Bluebeard again, maybe dial it down to just plain rock star? I already got lots of great piratey pictures, but I don’t think you did nearly enough rocking out.”

Chloe removes the eyepatch. “Well, that definitely sounds like a problem that needs to be fixed right away.” She takes off the bandana and shakes her hair out, running her fingers through it. The shutter clicks. “Oh man, now I really do feel like a model. You gonna use my picture to sell shampoo or some shit?”

“You can be the new spokesmodel for Manic Panic.”

“Ha!” Chloe unties the sash from her waist and tosses the pirate gear back into the duffle bag. “If only I could afford name brand hair dye.” She cocks her hip and raises an eyebrow. “Okay, Mr. DeMille. I’m ready for my closeup. Where do you want me?”

A dozen different answers race through Max’s mind with varying degrees of recklessness, but she’s never had Chloe’s ability flirt outrageously without censoring herself, so instead she answers by taking her picture. That, she can do.

“Wait, wait, we need music. Can’t be a rawk star without music.” Chloe opens the truck and turns it on enough to play the radio. She fiddles around for a good five minutes until she’s able to find something she can rock out to. “Here we go, let’s thrash this place!”

After that, Chloe is in full-on rock star model mode. Max doesn’t have to direct her at all; she just keeps the camera on Chloe and goes with the flow. There’s a moment when Chloe is dancing on top of the hood of her truck, and - when she’s not worrying about her falling off - Max is struck by the memory of the first time she and Chloe hung out after her return to Arcadia Bay: Chloe dancing on her bed and smoking a joint, chiding her into dancing along.

As if she’s reading Max’s mind, Chloe calls down, “Take a break, hipster; come up here and dance with me!”

“No way! I’ll fall off.”

“Pfft! It’s so not dangerous. I’ve only fallen off this thing, like, once.” Chloe stops and thinks. “Okay, maybe twice.” She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever. You don’t have to come up here. But you’re gonna dance with me.” She hops down and holds out her hand. “Well, Max? You’ve got no excuse now. There’s nothing to fall off of.”

“Except my own feet,” Max replies, snapping another picture.

“You’re not _that_ clumsy. Dance with me.”

Feigning more reluctance than she feels, Max puts the camera into her bag and takes Chloe’s hand. “You know I’m a terrible dancer.”

“Never stopped you before.” Chloe tugs her closer. “C’mon, you’re miles away.”

“Probably safer for your toes that way.”

“Considering you can’t weigh more than a buck, buck-five tops, I think I’ll take my chances.”

Max doesn’t normally dance if she can help it, but she can’t seem to help it when Chloe eggs her on. It’s not that she doesn’t like dancing; she just always worries that someone’s going to be watching her and judging. Even if she’s alone. But somehow when she dances with Chloe she’s able to shake some of that insecurity off. Chloe makes her feel safe. She makes it okay to be imperfect and a little ridiculous. Even when she teases her, it doesn’t feel like she’s being judged and found wanting. Besides, Chloe’s love of movement is contagious; it’s impossible not to follow her lead.

“Ground control to Major Max. You’re still lightyears away, what’s up?”

“I’m, like, three inches away!”

Chloe taps her head. “Not up here, you’re not. What’re you thinking?” She smirks. “Other than how good I look in these pants, that is.”

Max still has the photograph she took that day, her first picture of Chloe since she was fourteen. Her oldest and closest friend, who was practically a stranger that day: towering and distant, wreathed in smoke, her arm covered by a full sleeve tattoo, her hair chopped off and brilliant blue, living a life so far removed from what it had been and what Max had expected it to be that she might as well have been a whole other person. And yet before Max had even finished framing her shot, she could feel it all the way down to her bones: Chloe was about to become the most important person in the world to her once more. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

“I’m thinking that this is the longest I’ve seen you without a cigarette or a joint since I’ve been back in Arcadia Bay. It’s kind of nice.”

Chloe snorts. “Bull. That is _not_ what you were thinking about.”

“Also that you look really good in those pants.”

“Sure, play to my ego.” Chloe preens.

“And that dancing is actually kind of fun when it’s with you.”

“Yeah?” Chloe looks genuinely proud of herself. Max wishes she looked that way more often.

“Yeah.” Max closes the gap between them, resting her head against Chloe’s shoulder.

“Hey, dork, this isn’t a slow song.” When Chloe closes her arms around Max, her protest loses whatever teeth it might have had. While the radio keeps blaring music that’s too fast and too loud, they dance slow and gentle. Until Max lifts her head and peers up at Chloe, only to find her gazing down. And she still looks proud of herself, but there’s more to it than that. She looks calm, and content, and soft. It would be easy, Max realizes, to lean up into that softness. But on the other hand…

The shutter clicks, and Chloe groans. “Ugh, mood killer.”

“Sorry,” Max smiles, “but that look needed to be preserved for posterity.” She shakes the photograph, and Chloe lets go of her to reach for it.

“Let me see it, at least. And that better be one hell of a picture.”

They hold it together and wait for it to develop. “Okay,” Chloe admits, “That’s a pretty good one. Doesn’t look like me, but it’s pretty good.”

“What do you mean, it ‘doesn’t look like you?’” Max digs her elbow into Chloe’s side. “It’s literally you!”

Chloe shrugs a little defensively. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t look like me.” She lets go of the picture and slides her other arm away from Max. “It’s a nice picture, though. You’ve got a great eye.” She walks around to the back of the truck, grabs her aviators, and whips them back on. As she walks back to Max, she gestures to her shades. “Knew there was something missing from this outfit.”

“Uh-huh…” Max doesn’t press the issue. She doesn’t like to feel vulnerable either; she and Chloe just wear their armor differently.

Chloe stays in character until the light begins to change: jamming on her air guitar, posing like she’s in a music video, and maintaining a safe distance between herself and Max or anything that resembles a feeling. She doesn’t ask to look at the pictures when they’re done. “So, Max. Let’s do the time warp?”

“As long as you’re still good to go.”

“I am if you are. I’ve only been doing this for, like, half an hour. Don’t let me run you too ragged, huh?”

“I won’t.” Max gives her the notepad. “Don’t forget this.”

Chloe thinks for a minute, shoots Max a furtive look, then starts scribbling. She pauses before handing it over. “You’re not reading these, right?”

“I promised you I wouldn’t.” Chloe gives her a look of comically exaggerated suspicion. “So, _no_ , I’m not reading them.” She slips the notepad back into her bag, making a show of not looking at it. “Although _now_ I’m tempted.” She holds up her hand to interrupt when Chloe opens her mouth. “Still not going to. Relax.”

“Never entrust your private notes to a shameless snoop…” Chloe stage whispers.

“Hey now!”

“You and I both know you never outgrew your Nancy Drew phase.”

Max laughs a bit self-consciously. “Okay, fair enough, but the preferred term is ‘sleuth.’”

“Whatever you say. Now let’s roll already!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was such a blast to write. I hope you enjoyed it, too.


	3. Cutoffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round 5. Chloe kicks it up a notch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up that there's some mild angst toward the end, but this is still mostly fluff and flirting. So much flirting.

Max pushes them further into the past this time. When Chloe walks backward behind the truck to change back out of her rock star get-up, Max stares down at her own shoes and hopes that she’s rewinding back far enough. She stops when Chloe’s boots come back into view in front of her.   
  
“Hang on, I brought tons of other stuff…” Max follows Chloe again, peering over her shoulder at the contents of the duffle bag as she starts to go through it. “What do you want? Rawk star? Rugged pirate?”  
  
“Already did both. What else do you have in there?”  
  
Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Both, really?”  
  
Max hands her the notepad and waits for her to read it. Chloe’s face lights up, then turns distinctly pink a few seconds later. “O-okay then, cool!” She turns back to the duffle bag, digging through it vigorously to distract Max from her blush. “So, no pirates or rock stars…” She pauses and grins at Max, holding up the leather pants. “Guess I went straight for the big guns then, huh?”  
  
“You sure did.”  
  
“Sorry if I broke your brain. They’re probably a bit much for a first date.”  
  
“Somehow, I survived.”  
  
“And with your virtue, apparently, because I assume you wouldn’t be so cruel as to rewind that. I’m impressed.”  
  
The blood rushes to Max’s cheeks. “Chloe!”  
  
“Besides, I’m pretty sure Future Me would have mentioned that. Although she is surprisingly vague.”  
  
“Now who’s fault is that?”  
  
“Future Me, obviously. That bitch.” Chloe’s brow creases in thought. “Or is she Past Me?”  
  
Max touches Chloe’s arm. “Let’s not get bogged down in time travel semantics. Either way, I’m happy to fill you in on whatever she didn’t tell you.”  
  
“Is this your way of angling to find out what the note says?”  
  
“Yes. Is it working?”  
  
“Nope.” Chloe resumes digging through the pile of clothes. “Did I wear this yet?” She pulls out a denim jacket that Max hasn’t seen.  
  
“Not yet, no.”  
  
Chloe lays the jacket off to one side. “So… What _have_ we been up to? Can I see the pictures?”  
  
Max lays them out over the truck bed and takes over searching through the clothes while Chloe looks them over, stealing peeks at Chloe’s face from time to time. Most of the pictures make her smile. A couple of them make her look wistful. “Looks like we’ve been having a blast,” she says finally. “Damn, you’ve really taken a lot already.”  
  
“It’s been a good two hours, at least,” Max says, trying to count up the rewinds and work out the math in her head. “Maybe more?”  
  
“Oh, shit. You really are hardcore.” Chloe picks up the picture Max took of her standing next to the truck after she jumped down off the hood, holding out her hand. “So did I get you to dance with me or not?”  
  
“How do you know you were asking me to dance?”  
  
“Because there’s no way that I didn’t at least try. You’ve got all these pictures of me dancing, but I don’t see any of you dancing with me. So did you?”  
  
A soft smile comes over Max’s lips.   
  
Chloe tilts her head. “You hella did! Score one for Chloe Price!” She waves the photo at Max. “Next time, make sure you get one of the both of us. Don’t let Future Me have _all_ the fun. Fuck, is it weird that I’m actually kind of jealous of myself?”  
  
“You know, you’re pretty confident,” Max teases. “What makes you so sure there’ll be a next time?”  
  
“The way you’re smiling at me,” Chloe replies smugly. She takes the camera from Max and snaps her picture. “See?”   
  
“Hey, I thought I was supposed to be the photographer here.”  
  
“Sorry, didn’t realize you took your role-playing so seriously.”  
  
“Says Captain Bluebeard.” Max takes the camera back and resumes going through the duffle bag.   
  
“Okay then, Miss Max the Illustrious Photographer, have you finished picking out your model’s wardrobe yet?”  
  
For someone who generally prefers to fly by the seat of her pants, Chloe actually appears to have put a good amount of preparation into the wardrobe selection. Or else, which is perhaps more likely, she simply scooped as much clothing off of her floor and into the bag as she could fit and trusted there to be enough variety to keep things interesting. Either way, the end result is a daunting array of options that run the gamut from straight-up costume to regular street clothes (by Chloe’s standards) and everything in between. For someone like Max, who has a hard enough time making a decision even when there are only two options, the effect is dizzying.  
  
She shakes her head. “There’s too much to choose from. Make up my mind for me.”   
  
Chloe picks up the denim jacket she’d set aside earlier. “We can go the full Canadian Tuxedo if you want. I think I’ve got some of mom’s old acid wash jeans in here somewhere… Oh! No, better yet.” She digs around in the bag for a second, then pulls out a pair of ludicrously short cutoffs.   
  
Max’s eyebrows disappear under her bangs. “And here I thought you said Future You already pulled out the big guns.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I’ve gotta keep a few tricks up my sleeve, don’t I?” Chloe winks. “Now, keep an eye out for creepers, wouldja?”  
  
Max does a quick about-face. “Yup, sure, will do.”  
  
Chloe laughs over the sound of rustling fabric. “I wasn’t counting you as a creeper, you prude! Chill out. You saw this much when we went swimming. Of course, I was wearing a bra then…”  
  
“Didn’t work last time, won’t work this time. Besides, the last shirt you wore left… _very_ little to the imagination.”  
  
“Hmm, so that means something was left to the imagination. I think I can do better.”  
  
Max can hardly hear her through the blood thundering in her ears. “Just… try not to do _too_ much better, okay? I’m not sure I can rewind if I faint.”   
  
Chloe chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A minute later, she clears her throat. “How’s this? Survivable?”  
  
Max turns around cautiously. Underneath the denim jacket, Chloe’s got on a different band shirt that is somehow even more torn than the first one, almost more hole than shirt. The jacket is something of a mercy on Max’s nerves, as it keeps Chloe’s outfit just this side of scandalous. Even though it’s a fairly short jacket, its hem dangles a good inch lower than her jean shorts. Max isn’t sure if it’s possible for cutoffs to have a negative hemline, but these ones are certainly trying for it.   
  
“So? What’s the verdict? Don’t leave a girl hanging, Max.”  
  
“I… Wowser.”  
  
Chloe smirks and leans back against the truck, folding her arms over her chest in a way that somehow makes her shirt even more revealing, rather than less. “Okay, Mr. DeMille. I’m ready for my closeup. Where--”  
  
“Uh, let’s get closer to the water. We’re at the beach, so we might as well… um… get some good… beach shots.” Max is pretty sure she couldn’t have sounded more awkward if she’d tried. She’d facepalm, but it would only make it more embarrassing.   
  
Chloe’s expression is a little dangerous, but whatever response is sitting on the tip of her tongue she manages to swallow. She pushes off the truck with her foot and starts walking toward the shore. “Come on, then, hippie. Let’s make this beach our beeyotch.”  
  
Chloe strides ahead, her silhouette dark against the gold of ocean and sky. Max takes a deep breath and steadies herself before taking her picture. It isn’t that Chloe’s aggressive flirting is anything new in itself, but she isn’t used to so much of it and in such intensity. She walks slowly behind Chloe, letting each step sink into the cool sand, buying herself a little time and space to get her head clear.  
  
When Chloe nears the water line, she kicks off her boots and abandons them in the sand. If it weren’t so cold by the water, Max suspects she’d probably dive right in. She always loved to swim. When they played in the ocean as children, Chloe was always the first one in and the last one out. She would charge headfirst into the waves and let them knock her off her feet and carry her into the sand, over and over again. She could keep it up for hours without getting tired of it.    
  
It might be too cold for Chloe to play in the water, but its proximity seems to awaken something in her, something light and playful and free. She almost seems to forget Max and her camera entirely for a time, focusing all of her attention on the water and where it meets the sand. She chases the waves as they recede, then yelps and runs inland when they rush back in to meet her. Eventually, the waves chase her right into Max. “Woah! Oops.” She chuckles sheepishly. She doesn’t let go of Max’s arm right away, even after she’s steady on her feet again. “Guess I got a bit carried away.”  
  
“That’s okay. I got some great pictures of you frolicking like an otter.”  
  
Chloe snorts. “Pfft! I’m 100% shark, thank you.”   
  
“The pictures say different.”  
  
“Slander!” Smiling, Chloe lets go of Max’s arm and turns toward the water. “Damn, wish we had a metal detector or something. Remember when we used to look for buried treasure here?”  
  
Max remembers these adventures warmly, the image of Chloe digging up to her elbows in the wet sand with a look of absolute determination on her face as clear in her mind as a photograph. “Yeah, it was fun. Not that we ever found anything, but still.”  
  
“Hey, we found some _very_ exciting bottle caps! Not to mention all the seashells.” A wave laps cold salt water over Chloe’s bare feet. She draws the denim jacket, damp with ocean spray, around her and shivers. “Fuck, it’s cold.” She turns when she hears the click of the shutter and smiles at Max.   
  
“Should’ve thought of that before you dressed like that. At least you’ve got a jacket.”  
  
“Thanks, _Mom_.” Chloe rolls her eyes. “Let’s walk. Maybe it’ll warm me up.” As they start walking along the shore, Chloe steps closer to Max and leans against her.  
  
“Are you trying to steal my body heat?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“God, your jacket is all wet. No wonder you’re so cold.”  
  
Chloe snuggles closer, putting her arm around Max’s waist. Salt water seeps into Max’s hoodie from her sleeve, sending a shiver up her spine. “Good thing you’re warm.”   
  
“Seriously, though, where did you even get that outfit? Does anyone actually sell shorts that short?”  
  
Chloe shrugs. “Probably? These used to be pants, though. But it was really hot in the junkyard hideout one night and Rach--” She stops herself mid-sentence, her arm stiffening around Max’s waist. “Uh, never mind.”  
  
“What? She double-dared you to make obscenely short cutoffs?”  
  
“Um, no, she kinda got sick of hearing me bitch about how hot it was, so she maybe kinda cut my pants off. Like, cut the legs off them, I mean.”  
  
“Oh.” Max’s heart gives an unpleasant squelch at the image. She tries to shrug it off by joking. “So, what about that shirt? She cut those holes in it, too? Let me guess: it was a hot night in the junkyard, and she thought your shirt needed ventilation.” She waits for Chloe to laugh. When she doesn’t, Max peeks over at her. Her face is averted, but Max can see bright pink creeping up her neck. Max stops, jerking Chloe to a halt as well. “Wait, seriously?”  
  
“I mean, not exactly…” Chloe fidgets with her torn up shirt. “Some of the holes were already there, she just… maybe helped them along a bit.” As she speaks, her finger subconsciously tugs at one of the holes in her shirt as if to rip it wider still, and it’s all too easy for Max to picture Rachel’s hand instead. She looks away.  
  
“Oh. Wow. Okay.”  
  
“Fuck, I’m sorry; I shouldn’t’ve brought it up. Are you mad?”  
  
“Of course not. Why would I be mad?” But Max’s voice has gone flat and cold, and she realizes that, flying in the face of all reason, she is in fact furious. It isn’t Chloe she’s mad at; she knows this logically, even though the anger makes her want to scream at her. It’s Seattle; it’s her parents for taking her away when Chloe needed her; it’s herself for not reaching out; it’s Rachel for being there when she wasn’t.   
  
“Because it’s really stupid to talk about someone you… used to, you know, be… uh, have feelings for. On a date with someone else. Also you look really mad.”  
  
“I’m _not_ mad,” Max asserts. “I’m… shocked, I guess. And…” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “And, I don’t know, jealous.”  
  
Chloe nods thoughtfully, holding her jacket close around herself. She looks hurt and suddenly small. Max hates that she’s made her look that way.  
  
“I know it doesn’t make sense for me to be jealous,” Max sighs. “She was here. I wasn’t.”  
  
“I _wanted_ you to be here.”  
  
Max winces at a stab of guilt that only makes her more furious with herself. “I know. I’m so sorry. I should have been here, and I wasn’t. I have no right to be jealous. But I am.”  
  
“I shouldn’t’ve said anything; I should have kept my big dumb mouth shut--” Chloe’s hands clench into fists, knuckles painfully white, as her eyes clamp shut.  
  
“Chloe, no.” Max reaches out her hand and tentatively touches Chloe’s fist. “You shouldn’t have to pretend that Rachel didn’t exist. Or that she… didn’t mean anything to you. That isn’t fair to either of you.”  
  
Chloe doesn’t say anything, but she lets Max take her hand, opening her fingers to let Max’s twine with hers. Her face, screwed up with self-loathing anger, relaxes slightly.   
  
“I’ll get over it,” Max assures her. “I just need some time to process. But I don’t want you to think you have to forget her, or not talk about her ever. I’m _glad_ that someone was here for you - that _she_ was here for you.” She squeezes Chloe’s hand. “I swear, I’m not mad.” And it’s true, now.  
  
They walk in silence along the water’s edge, still holding hands. The sun is nearly set. The sky is the deep purple of a fresh bruise. The sand is dark and cold.   
  
“So,” Chloe says eventually, “probably about time to wipe the slate clean, huh?” She presses Max’s fingers with her own before letting go of her hand. “Hope I don’t fuck the next one up this bad.”  
  
“You didn’t--”  
  
“Gimme that notepad, wouldja?”  
  
Max hands it over with some reluctance. Chloe only writes in it for a couple of seconds before she hands it back. They start walking up the beach to the parking lot.  
  
“Hey, Max? Maybe some other time, tell me that again. About it being okay to not forget about Rachel.” Her voice sounds strained and near tears. It puts a lump in Max’s throat.  
  
“Of course. I promise.”  
  
“But not tonight. Alright? I don’t want to think about that tonight. I want this to be _our_ night.” She glances over at Max, then guiltily away again. “Y’know, I’m actually kind of excited to leave this one behind me. Wish you didn’t have to remember it.”  
  
Max feels a pang deep in her chest that’s almost pain. “I wouldn’t trade a minute with you for anything.”  
  
Chloe’s feet stutter. “...Remind me of that, too, wouldja?” She looks at Max again, and this time she lets herself hold the gaze. Beneath the shimmer of unshed tears, there’s something fragile in her eyes that resembles hope.  
  
The pang that look puts in Max’s chest is of a very different kind. It doesn't hurt. “Of course. As many times as you need.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much as I'm a big-time Pricefield shipper, I've got some strong feelings about the importance of Amberprice. Before the Storm really ripped my heart open, and I honestly am not sure I would've even gotten back into LiS without it (my first playthrough was so devastating I thought I'd never want to play it again. luckily I was wrong.), so I like to pay my respects. Thanks for putting up with me.
> 
> Next chapter is super long and super flirty. Also a bit angsty, but about different things. But mostly fluffy and flirty.


	4. The Shore, The Waves, The Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round 6. Things both cool down and heat up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter spun way out of control and ended up being fully twice as long as usual. There is again a bit of angst and I think this story is getting increasingly sweary, but it's still mostly fluff and flirting and a couple of moments of slapstick. Enjoy.
> 
> Chapter title is from the song of the same name by the sadly defunct band Con Amore. I don't think they ever cut more than a demo and they broke up at least a decade ago, but still. Good song, good title.

When they’re ready, Max raises her hand. Time slips around her, flowing in reverse. She averts her head again as Chloe walks backward behind the truck. How many times has she done this already? There was the pirate outfit, the rock star, the denim, one or two rounds before all of that… Or were there three? Wait, how far back was she planning to rewind this time?  
  
Suspecting the answer to be “not as far as this,” Max abruptly stops rewinding.  
  
“Hang on, I brought-- Max? Where the fuck--?!”  
  
Max is still standing in the parking lot next to the truck. Several yards away, Chloe stands in the sand, looking around in confusion until she spots her companion.  
  
“What the shit, Max?” Chloe exclaims as she trots over to join her. “You teleport now?”  
  
“At least I’m not down by the water still,” Max says sheepishly. “Messed up my timing. I guess I’m getting a bit sloppy.”  
  
“How long have you been going for?”  
  
Max throws up her shoulders. “A while.” She extracts the notepad from her bag and holds it out to Chloe.  
  
“Dude, really? I literally _just_ looked at that.”  
  
“And I literally _just_ traveled through time. Humor me.”  
  
Chloe’s face lights up as she reads through her newer notes, then dims, the smile falling off her lips. When she sees Max staring at her, she pastes another smile on quickly, but it seems forced. “So, it’s a date, huh?” Her voice is cautious, a little uncertain. She hands back the notepad. “Hope I’m not being too, uh, _me_ about it.”  
  
“I don’t know what you mean or what Future You has been telling you, but I think you’re amazing. 12 out of 10, would date again.”  
  
Chloe’s smile softens. It isn’t forced anymore. “Aw. You get mushy on dates. I always knew you were a closet goop.”  
  
“Takes one to know one.” Max bumps her shoulder and Chloe bumps back.  
  
“Okay, so what shenanigans have we been getting up to? And, equally important, what shenanigans do you want to get up to next?” Chloe starts pawing through the contents of the duffle bag once again. “Did I do the pirate look yet?”  
  
“That was your first move. Pretty good one, too.”  
  
“Yaaarrr, that’s how I _hooked_ ya then?” Chloe crooks a finger of one hand into an imaginary hook.  
  
“With bad pirate puns, yes,” Max laughs. “You also partied like a rock star - and, yes, before you ask, you did get me to dance, and sorry, no, I didn’t get a picture of that. But I will next time.”  
  
There’s a hint of self-satisfaction on Chloe’s lips. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Caulfield.” Her hands pause on the denim cutoffs, then quickly push them aside and bury them under other clothes. “So what’s the plan for this one? How should I dress up?”  
  
“Maybe don’t dress up? Maybe just be Chloe Price?”  
  
Chloe looks skeptical. “I mean, it’s _all_ Chloe Price, Max.” She lifts up a handful of clothes for emphasis. “It all came from my closet. Well, my floor. But you get the idea.”  
  
“Still. Let’s just walk by the water, okay? You don’t have to dress up. Bring a jacket, though. It’s kind of cold out there.”  
  
Chloe holds open the thin black jacket she’s wearing. “This isn’t enough?”  
  
“Not if you’re going to chase the waves. And you know you want to.”  
  
“Sounds like a dare to me. What about you? You already look kinda cold.” Chloe touches the sleeve of Max’s hoodie. Between the wind and the spray of the ocean, it’s damp and cold to the touch. “Jeez, Max, why didn’t you say anything? Take that wet thing off before you freeze.”  
  
Max takes off her hoodie and her messenger bag. Her arms are covered with goosebumps. “You sound like Joyce.”  
  
“Thanks, Max. Exactly what every girl wants to hear on a date: ‘you sound like your mother.’” Chloe shrugs off her jacket and drapes it over Max’s shoulders. It’s warm and too big and it smells like her. “Better?” Max nods and slips her arms into the too-long sleeves, then slings her bag back over her shoulder. “Come on, then, hippie. Let’s go take a long walk on the beach.” Chloe takes a few steps toward the water.  
  
“Hey, wait! You’re going to be even colder now.”  
  
Chloe turns around to face her, walking backwards. “Nothing I can’t handle. Besides, it sounds to me like you haven’t gotten any pictures of my tattoo looking boss as fuck by the ocean, and that’s positively criminal.” She pauses and reaches out her hand for Max. “And you’ll keep me warm, right?”  
  
Chloe groans when Max pulls out her camera.  
  
“You’re the one who suggested a photo shoot,” Max reminds Chloe as she waits indulgently, hand still extended. She slips the camera into her bag, then takes Chloe’s hand. “And you’re right. The ocean makes a great backdrop for your tattoo.” She holds up the photo for Chloe to look at. It’s not quite developed, only the suggestion of shapes and colors.  
  
“I’ll take your word for it. You’re the photography ninja.”  
  
Chloe shivers when the first ocean breeze hits her bare arms.  
  
“Told you you’d be cold.”  
  
“Who’s cold?” Chloe pulls Max close to her, putting an arm around her shoulders.  
  
“You’re trying to steal my body heat again.”  
  
Chloe gasps, pretending to be offended by the suggestion. “No way! I’m keeping you warm.”  
  
“Mhm, that must be why your arms are all goosebumpy. Because I’m stealing _your_ warmth.”  
  
“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but now that you mention it…”  
  
Max laughs and puts her arm around Chloe’s waist, snuggling into her side. “You must have at least half a dozen jackets and sweatshirts in that duffle bag. Why are you so _stubborn_? This is because I said you sounded like Joyce, isn’t it.”  
  
“That, and maybe I wanted an excuse to put my arm around you.”  
  
Warmth spreads through Max’s chest. “Smooth.”  
  
“Worked, didn’t it?”  
  
“I bet you do that old ‘yawn and stretch’ routine at the movie theater, too.”  
  
“Take me to the movies and find out.”  
  
Max stops suddenly. “Holy shit, you _do_ do that!”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Oh my god!” Max buries her face in her palm. “Oh my god, Tween Me was so fucking dense.”  
  
For once, Chloe is speechless. Her mouth keeps opening and closing as if to form words, but nothing comes out.  
  
“How the hell did I not notice that?? God, I was so oblivious! You pulled that move _all the time!_ ” Max looks up at Chloe’s flustered, guilty face. “Like, every freaking movie night for a year! Or more!”  
  
“I-I mean, not _every_ movie night…” Chloe protests, finding her tongue. “A couple times I kinda chickened out.”  
  
“Chloe Price, you are…” Max crushes Chloe into a hug. “...Absolutely fucking adorable.”  
  
“Hey, hey.” Chloe returns the embrace awkwardly. “I’m a big, scary, totally badass punk, I’ll have you know.”  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
“I’ve got tattoos. And piercings.”  
  
“I’ve noticed. Cute.”  
  
“And I smoke. And drink.”  
  
“Still adorable.”  
  
“I hit a guy with a bottle, once. I-”  
  
“Chloe, are you _trying_ to ruin this moment?”  
  
Chloe tenses, then attempts to relax. “Sorry,” she mumbles into the top of Max’s head. “Self-sabotage. It’s a reflex.”  
  
Max squeezes her. “We’ll work on that.”  
  
“Mm.” Chloe withdraws, but holds onto Max’s hand and starts walking again. “Guess I’ve got a lot to work on, huh,” she mutters more to herself than to Max. Before Max can say anything in response, Chloe hisses between her teeth, “ _Shit!_ My boots are getting soaked.” She stops and lets go of Max’s hand to start pulling her boots off. “Goddamnit, they’re gonna be ruined. My feet’ll be wet all night...”  
  
Max puts her hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You’re on a date with a time traveler, remember? When I rewind, your boots will go back to normal.”  
  
Chloe ponders this for a few seconds. A mischievous smile crosses her face. “Holy shit, you’re right.” She hauls off and flings her boots into the sand as far away as she can. “I don’t have to worry about getting things wet or full of sand or any of that. Because you’re going to rewind all of this. _I can do whatever I want!_ ” The look on her face is growing increasingly dangerous. She seizes Max’s face between her hands suddenly and pulls close to her until their noses are grazing. “Max, you’re _glorious_! I could _kiss_ you!”  
  
Max’s face turns instantly red in her hands. Her heart crashes against her ribs. “I-I-”  
  
Chloe lets go of her abruptly and charges full steam into the ocean, wading out until the water rises above her hips and gets strong enough to lift her up. The loss of contact lets Max shake herself out of her daze. “Why _don’t_ you, then??” she calls after her, but if her voice makes it through the thunder of the waves, Chloe doesn’t answer.  
  
Chloe throws herself into the arms of the ocean. Waves lift her up in swells, tumble her head over heels, and fling her to the sand with bruising force. Tangled with seaweed and sputtering salt water, she laughs, picks herself up, and charges in again. And again and again and again.  
  
“Please, please, don’t get yourself drowned!” Max calls after her from time to time. She knows she can always rewind if anything truly bad happens, but it doesn’t stop her stomach from nervously clenching just as much as when Chloe played with the ocean in the same rough way as a child and Max had had no powers to save her.  
  
“You’re taking pictures of this, right?” Chloe asks, out of breath and dripping wet, seaweed draped over one shoulder. Her steps in the wet sand are unsteady, her legs knocked weak. “‘Cause if you’re not getting some sick action shots, that’d be a damn shame.”  
  
“Maybe you should take a break?”  
  
Chloe contemplates arguing, then surrenders to gravity and exhaustion, dropping down to the sand near Max’s feet instead. She pats the ground next to her.  
  
“When I get sand in my underwear, which you know I will, remind me that it’s your fault,” Max says as she sits, removing her bag and placing it beside her.  
  
“You’ll have to remind me to remind you, but sure.” Chloe wrings water from her hair.  
  
“Or I could not rewind this time. Let you be wet and miserable all night.”  
  
“You wouldn’t dare!”  
  
“I don’t know. This is a good look for you.”  
  
And it’s true. Her cheeks are flushed pink with exertion and joy, her eyes wide and shining. Her breathing is hard and a little ragged, still trying to find a natural rhythm as her body slowly calms. Her clothes are soaked through and plastered to her skin in a way that makes Max’s breath catch in her throat. Saltwater glistens gold on her skin. She’s absolutely glowing.  
  
“Yeah? The ‘drowned rat’ look does it for you?”  
  
“Apparently.” Max picks up her camera and frames the shot. It won’t capture everything she wants it to - no picture could - but it’ll serve as a reminder. The shutter clicks.  
  
“You never actually answered my question, anyway,” Chloe says as Max shakes the photograph.  
  
“Of course I’ve been taking pictures. I’m not made of stone.”  
  
“Oh, good. I was worried you were just standing there biting your nails and waiting for something terrible to happen. Y’know. Like you used to.” Chloe pokes Max in the thigh. “Hey, can I see them?”  
  
“Okay, but careful not to drip on them.” Chloe borrows the sleeve of her jacket to dry her hands, and Max hands her the pictures of her playing in the water.  
  
“Nice. Damn, you weren’t kidding; this _is_ a good look for me. My ink and the waves and that light… Shit, it really does make things look magical.” She hands the photos back a little shyly. “You’re _good_ , Max.”  
  
“No way. It’s all you.”  
  
Chloe snorts. “Please. Nothing magical about me since the fifth-grade talent show.”  
  
“That is so not true.”  
  
“Says the girl with literal magic powers.”  
  
“So I should know, then.”  
  
A wicked glint comes into Chloe’s eyes. She stands, futilely wiping sand from her pants. “You know, as good as those pictures are, there’s something missing from them.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Max says suspiciously. Her suspicions are confirmed when Chloe scoops her up into her arms. Max squeals.  
  
Chloe takes one staggering step towards the water, then another. “C’mon, you’ve been hiding behind your camera long enough!”  
  
“Chloe!” Max knows she should be angry, but it’s sort of a giddy thrill. Chloe wades into the water up to her ankles.  
  
“This look still doing it for you? Still gonna leave me wet and miserable all night?”  
  
“Don’t you dare drop me!” Max’s warning would be more threatening if she could stop grinning foolishly. “Seriously, Chloe! I can’t rewind my own clothes dry! And I’ve got my phone in my pocket!”  
  
“So do I.” Chloe wades a little deeper. Max squirms and holds on tight. “Should’ve thought of that before you threatened not to rewind. This is purely revenge.” She gives a little heave, pretending that she’s going to lose her grip. Max’s fingers dig into her shoulder. “Also it’s fun to watch you squirm.” She pauses when the water comes up to her knees, its waves almost touching Max’s dangling feet.  
  
Max is pretty sure she isn’t actually going to let go. _Pretty_ sure. Before she can get nervous enough to start pleading with her in earnest, Chloe turns and wades back toward the shore. Max’s body finally relaxes when sand is firmly under Chloe’s feet once more. “How did someone who smokes so much and never works out get so strong?”  
  
Chloe chuckles. “As if I need to be strong to pick you up. I could carry you around like this all night.” Normally that might be true, but Chloe’s body feels weak from the pummeling of the waves. Her arms are starting to shake a bit, her knees threatening to buckle, and she’s starting to get out of breath from the effort. She kneels in the sand and sets Max down, gently but heavily.  
  
The funny thing is, Max is feeling a little out of breath herself, even though she hasn’t exerted herself at all. “You’re _ridiculous_.”  
  
Chloe’s still hovering over Max, grinning broadly and dripping cold saltwater everywhere. “You love it.”  
  
Max reaches up a tentative hand to brush Chloe’s wet hair back behind her ear, letting her hand rest against Chloe’s cheek on the return. “And you’re _freezing_. I don’t know how you can stand it.”  
  
Chloe leans into her hand. “Mm, really? I don’t feel cold.” Max isn’t cold at all, but a shiver runs up her arm anyway.  
  
The sun drifts closer to the horizon. The red of sunset begins to the color the sky, warming the light bathing the beach to a deep rose gold. Max doesn’t take her hand away and Chloe doesn’t stop leaning into it. She looks down at Max, all pink and blue and gold in the setting sun, and she isn’t ridiculous at all anymore; she’s radiant. She’s so close Max can feel her breathing, and she’s still dripping cold water on her but Max doesn’t care, and her expression is so tender now, and her eyes are so soft and deep and blue and  
  
“You should probably stop looking at me like that if you don’t want to be stuck in wet clothes all night.” With great effort, Max is able to keep her voice even and steady despite her rapidly constricting chest.  
  
“Why’s that?”  
  
“Because you’ll make me want to kiss you, and I am _not_ rewinding our first kiss.”  
  
Something warm flashes quickly in Chloe’s eyes. She briefly bites her lower lip, then flings herself down onto her back in the sand next to Max with an exasperated sigh. “Fuuuuuck.”  
  
“Sorry, but--”  
  
“No, no,” Chloe groans. “You’re totally right. Still, though. _Fuck!_ ” She huffs about it for half a minute, then turns her head toward Max with a smirk. “You’re wrong about one thing, though.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
Chloe rolls onto her side to face Max, making a pillow out of her arm. She leans close enough that Max can feel the warmth of her breath on her skin. “It wouldn’t be our first kiss.”  
  
A wave of heat washes over Max’s face. “O-okay, well,” she sputters, melting under the intensity of Chloe’s stare, “our f-first kiss that wasn’t on a _dare_. Either way, I’m not rewinding a k-kiss.”  
  
“Do you have any idea how cute you are when you get all flustered? Man, if my phone weren’t so totally ruined, I could live with the wet clothes...” Chloe leans closer still. “Anyway, I wasn’t talking about that one, either. Are you forgetting the infamous mistletoe incident of 2007?”  
  
Max blinks. “Are you cereal? That wasn’t a kiss: that was a concussion. I’m still convinced I got whiplash.”  
  
Chloe puts on an exaggerated puppy dog look. “You’re breaking my heart here. My kisses are the _best_.”  
  
“Plus, it was on the cheek!”  
  
Chloe shrugs. “So my aim was a little off. Still counts.” She smiles. “Besides, do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to have to talk my dad into hanging that damn mistletoe over my door?”  
  
“I _wondered_ what it was doing there! You are unbelievable.”  
  
“You’re not too bad yourself, Caulfield.” Her smile turns sly and her voice deepens slightly. “Y’know, my aim’s gotten a lot better since then.”  
  
Max’s breath catches. Chloe reaches a hand slowly toward her. “C-chloe…” Max’s eyes close instinctively in anticipation. “I’m not kidding,” she whispers as she feels Chloe inch closer still. “I really won’t re--” Her eyes flash back open in surprise when Chloe’s finger quickly presses the tip of her nose.  
  
“Boop!”    
  
Max groans and buries her face in her hands. “You are _such_ a jerk!”  
  
“Hit my target, though, didn’t I?”  
  
Max punches her lightly in the shoulder. Chloe chuckles smugly. “I can’t believe you just did that,” Max mutters, equally amused and annoyed.  
  
“I can’t believe that you can’t believe I just did that.”  
  
The sunset deepens and spreads across the sky. Max and Chloe lay on their backs side by side in the cool sand, inching together until their shoulders are touching. “Hey, wait a minute.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“You asked your dad to hang that mistletoe?”  
  
“I mean, yeah, I had to. My growth spurt hadn’t really kicked in yet.”  
  
Max turns to look at her. “So, he knew?”  
  
In the fading light, it becomes harder and harder for Max to read Chloe’s expression. She doesn’t answer right away, and Max starts to worry she’s said the wrong thing. “Probably, I guess. I didn’t tell him, if that’s what you mean. But he wasn’t an idiot.” She tries to laugh but it turns into an angry sigh. “I don’t know what story I told him that time, but it was probably pretty transparent. He knew the only two people going in and out that door would be me and you. We never talked about that stuff, but… Fuck, he probably figured it out before I did.” Reaching blindly, she finds Max’s hand and holds onto it. “Sometimes…” Her voice wobbles. “Sometimes, I wonder… If he’d… If I’d...”  
  
Max squeezes Chloe’s hand. A small sob escapes from Chloe’s lungs.  
  
“If things would’ve been different, you know?” Chloe chokes out. “If I had him to… to talk to about it with… I could’ve skipped so much of the _shit_.” She curls onto her side, pressing her forehead to Max’s shoulder. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Saltwater seeps through Chloe’s jacket into Max’s skin again, warm this time.  
  
Max reaches up with her other hand and strokes Chloe’s hair. “Don’t be sorry.”  
  
“I wish I’d talked to him when I had the chance,” she breathes tearily into Max’s shoulder. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “He would’ve understood. He would’ve told me--” Her voice breaks, hard. “-- _that it’s okay. That he knew and he loved me anyway_.” She’s fully sobbing now, loud and messy, gripping Max’s hand so tightly that Max would be worried about broken bones if she weren’t more worried about Chloe.  
  
Max holds her close, her own eyes burning with tears she doesn’t quite manage to hold back entirely. “He would have,” she promises Chloe, and she believes it with her whole heart. “He _did_.” She holds Chloe until at last she stops shaking.  
  
“Ugh,” Chloe groans as she pulls away. “I think I snotted all over your shoulder.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it. It’s your jacket.”  
  
Chloe barks out a single hard laugh at that, her throat still raw from crying. She lets go of Max’s hand and drags her forearm across her face, sighing harshly. Max flexes her aching fingers. “Do your parents know?” Chloe asks after a long pause, her voice rough but no longer shaky.  
  
“That I, um…?” Max is suddenly grateful for the dying light. It makes it easier to hide her anxiety. “I don’t know. I haven’t exactly told them, either, but, you know… Parents. They figure stuff out.” Chloe grunts in agreement. Max worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “They… Um. I’m pretty sure they thought it was kinda weird how much we hung out when we were kids. Or more when we were older, I guess.” She fidgets with her hands. Now that they’re empty, she’s not sure what to do with them. “Then when I was in Seattle I went on dates with a couple of boys, and they seemed relieved. Which seemed funny to me, since in movies and everything the parents are always really overprotective, don’t want boys anywhere near their daughters and all that… But mine were just _relieved_. And, like, weirdly supportive. _Too_ supportive.” She shakes her head softly and closes her eyes. Her stomach feels tight and sour. “So I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t all that popular anyway, and the only people who ever did ask me out were boys, so it was easy enough to just… _push down_ any other feelings. Sometimes… Sometimes I managed to even convince myself that they weren’t there.” She scoffs at herself. “But then, you know, a cute girl would pass by me too close in the hall or something and suddenly it’d be like this kick to the head, like: ‘Oh, right. There it is.’ So, no. I haven’t told them. There didn’t seem much point since no girls wanted to date me anyway, and they seem so much happier thinking I only want to date boys.” Somewhere along the line, bitterness crept into her tone. She’s not sure if it’s at her parents or herself.  
  
Chloe touches her arm, gently. “That really sucks. I’m sorry, Max.”  
  
Max shrugs. “Well, they’re gonna have to deal with it now, aren’t they?”  
  
“Damn right. I can see it now: you take me back to Seattle to reintroduce me to your parents, they get a good eyeful of who I grew up to be and realize that I’m even scarier now than when we were kids, then they pack you off to a convent or something.”  
  
“Pssht, well, first of all, I don’t think my parents would send me to a convent: they’re not religious, and also I’m pretty sure that would defeat the purpose of keeping me away from women. Second, I’m a legal fucking adult, so I’ll go out with whoever the hell I want to go out with. And if they can’t deal with that, then… then…” Max lets her words trail off. She isn’t sure how to complete that thought in a way that will make either of them feel good.  
  
Chloe sits up and starts brushing the clinging sand from her arms and her clothes. “So was that…” She clears her throat and takes a deep breath. “Was that why you didn’t…” She screws up her face. “Fuck. No, that isn’t fair. Forget it.” She stands and starts wiping at her pants.  
  
A lump forms in Max’s throat, thick and heavy. “Was that why I didn’t what?”  
  
Max can see the words burning in Chloe’s mouth, in her eyes. She manages to hold them back, but Max can see them anyway. Two years of sporadic, noncommittal texts, of half-assed emails and unanswered phone calls. Three years more of total radio silence. Five full years of silence and neglect when Chloe needed a friend. When Chloe needed _her_.  
  
“Just forget it.” Chloe folds her arms over her chest and shivers. “Fuck, I’m _cold_. It’s getting dark out. You gonna get this show on the road or what, Max?”  
  
Max sits up, guilt still sitting heavy in her chest. “What, rewind?”  
  
“Yeah, rewind. I’m freezing my ass off and my phone’s fucked and I’m pretty sure I killed whatever mood there might have been, so maybe Past Me can do better.”  
  
“You didn’t ‘kill the mood.’”  
  
“Please. I might as well have taken a chainsaw to it. Try not to hold it against Past Me, okay? Poor kid doesn’t know how bad she fucked it up.”  
  
“You didn’t--”  
  
Chloe puts out her hand. “Notepad?”  
  
Max hands it over and watches fretfully as Chloe makes her note. “Chloe, you’re way too hard on yourself.”  
  
“‘Nother thing for me to work on.” She returns the notepad and pencil and starts striding back toward the parking lot. Max tries to keep up with her.  
  
It’s too dark to read Chloe’s face, but Max doesn’t need to see it to know what it looks like. She’s seen it enough times before. The anxious eyes that won’t meet hers because they expect to see something they don’t want to. The tense, twisted mouth, curling in on itself to stop from spitting out words that she’s sure can only do harm. Everything twisting inward, twisting away.  
  
“Chloe.” Max reaches out and touches her wrist lightly. Chloe slows but doesn’t stop.  
  
“It’s fine. Really. I won’t remember being upset in a minute, anyway.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t real, though.” She gives Chloe’s wrist a gentle tug.  
  
Chloe snorts disbelievingly. “Okay, sure. Whatever. Just… _do it_ already. Wave your magic wand.”  
  
“No. Not until you stop beating yourself up.”  
  
“Why does it even matter to you? Just rewind, I’ll be fine again in no time. No messy feelings to deal with.”  
  
“I don’t want to take shortcuts with you.”  
  
“Max, it’s _fine_.”  
  
“It _isn’t_ fine. You’re allowed to have feelings! You’re allowed to be messy and complicated and _human_. I don’t want you think that every time you get upset or one of us says the wrong thing, I’m just going to turn back the clock and erase it so we can have some kind of perfect existence. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be _you_.”  
  
Suddenly Max is being crushed in Chloe’s arms, her face pressed into her bare shoulder. She’s not sure if she reached for Chloe first or if Chloe reached for her, but ultimately it doesn’t matter: they both hold onto each other as a drowning person holds onto a life preserver. “I _wanted_ it to be perfect,” Chloe sniffs. “I wanted to give you something _perfect_.”  
  
Max’s eyes sting. “Chloe, this is so, so perfect. All of it. Every minute I get to spend with you is special.”  
  
“Even when it’s a disaster? Even when I’m a total jerk and I fuck up everything?”  
  
“This isn’t a disaster, you’re not a jerk, and you didn’t fuck up anything.”  
  
Chloe thinks for a few seconds before speaking, her tone cautious. “...What if I asked you to keep this one?”  
  
“This one of what?”  
  
“To not rewind. To let this be how tonight goes. Would you do it?”  
  
Max pulls back to search Chloe’s eyes. “If that’s what you want, then of course I would.”  
  
“Really? If I asked you, you’d let this stand.” Chloe’s face is skeptical but laced with hope. “With the crying and the self-loathing and me being an absolute brat to you?”  
  
“I already told you: yes. If this is how you want to remember tonight, then I won’t rewind it. Is that what you want?”  
  
Chloe guides Max’s head back to her shoulder. “Fuck no,” she breathes. “But it’s good to know that you really would.” They hold each other for another minute, gently now. “Could I have that notepad again?”  
  
Max lets go and hands over the paper and pencil once more. Chloe jots down her note and returns them. She shakes out her arms as though limbering up. “Okay. I think I’m ready now.”  
  
“You feel better?”  
  
“So much better. Give Past Me a hug for me, wouldja? That was really nice.”  
  
“It’ll be my pleasure.” Max slides off Chloe’s jacket and hands it to her. To Chloe’s questioning look she replies, “I’m going to rewind back to when you were wearing it, but things I’m wearing travel back with me, so…”  
  
“So maybe I’d end up with two jackets?”  
  
Max resumes walking toward the truck, Chloe keeping pace with her. “Maybe. Or maybe the resulting paradox will cause a rift in time and space that sucks all of human existence into oblivion. I’d rather not find out.”  
  
“You stayed up all last night watching 1950s scifi movies again, didn’t you.”  
  
“I might have.” When they reach the truck, Max picks up her discarded hoodie from the ground and makes a face. It’s every bit as damp as when she took it off, and now it’s picked up a layer of sand and who knows what else from the parking lot. “Ew. Gross.”  
  
Chloe looks amused when Max wincingly slips it back on. “More paradox prevention?”  
  
Max nods. “Best case scenario, it magically appears on the ground in the past and you think there’s a glitch in the matrix. Worst case scenario…”  
  
“Oblivion?”  
  
“Oblivion. Or since it wasn’t on the ground in the past and wasn’t on me in the present, it might disappear altogether. Either way, I’d lose my hoodie. And I like this hoodie, under normal circumstances.”  
  
“Ahh, the trials of being a time traveler. So, are we good to go? Not gonna get sucked into oblivion because you forgot to tie your shoelaces or something?”  
  
Max looks down at her shoes. “My shoelaces aren’t--”  
  
Chloe flicks her nose and Max groans. “ _Chloe_ , oh my god...”  
  
“That’s what _she_ said,” Chloe snickers. “C’mon, the sooner you rewind, the sooner I’ll stop making an ass of myself. Uh, no guarantees on that, though.”  
  
Max shakes her head fondly. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you in a minute.”  
  
“See you then. And, hey, Max?” Chloe’s face turns serious again. “Thanks. You know, for everything.”  
  
Max smiles in response. “Any time.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming into the home stretch now. Next chapter is shaping up to be quite long as well. I'm going to be doing a bit of traveling, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep to my unofficial schedule of posting on Wednesdays, but I will do my best. The last chapter will include drawings, which may also slow me down a bit. But! The drawings will be visualizations of some of the photos Max is taking during this glorious Golden Hour photoshoot (not all, because my hands would never forgive me). I've got a few I already know I want to draw, but if there are any pictures taken in any chapter of this story that jump out to you as something you'd like to see, let me know and I will do my best to be accommodating (within reason. again, don't want my hands to disown me; I've still got another year of art school left). I've got a couple of pieces of fanart up on this account, so check them out if you want a sense of the style they're going to be drawn in.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you're enjoying this all as much as I am!


	5. Diving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once more, with feeling. Final round of the Golden Hour.

“Aw. You get mushy on--” Chloe’s eyes narrow in confusion. “Were you _always_ covered in sand?”  
  
“Only since you threatened to throw me into the ocean. C’mere.” Max wraps her arms around Chloe and pulls her into a hug. Still confused, Chloe is tense at first but soon relaxes into the embrace, folding Max into her arms.  
  
“This is from Future You,” Max informs her, giving her a firm squeeze.  
  
Chloe’s eyebrows lift. “I sent myself a hug from the future? This is either going really well or _really_ badly.”  
  
Max leans up and brushes her lips against Chloe’s cheek. “That’s from Present Me.” She can feel Chloe’s face warm against her.  
  
“I guess it can’t be going that badly, then.”  
  
Max chuckles softly into Chloe’s shoulder. “No, it’s wonderful. It’s perfect.”  
  
Chloe’s fingers tighten on Max’s hoodie. “I’m really glad.” Her words are only a whisper. “You seriously are a mess, though,” she says louder. “And your hoodie’s all wet. Are you sure I didn’t actually throw you in the ocean?”  
  
Max pulls away a little reluctantly. “No, you only threw yourself in. You did totally soak my clothes when you picked me up, though.”  
  
“Yeah, that sounds like--” Chloe’s brow furrows. She catches Max’s chin in her hand and peers closely into her eyes. “Shit, Max, were you _crying_??” A look of horror crosses her face. “What did I _DO_??”  
  
Max covers Chloe’s hand with her own. “You didn’t do anything. Really, it was mostly a reflex to you crying.”  
  
“ _I_ was crying?? What the hell kind of a date is this?!” Chloe groans. “Max, I thought you said this was going well!”  
  
“It is! Really, I wouldn’t trade a minute of it. I wouldn’t trade a second.” Max presses Chloe’s hand. “It’s so special that you would plan this for me. And you’ve been so sweet, and funny, and real. The only way it could be better is if you could remember all of it, too.”  
  
Chloe eyes her uncertainly. “Hm. I don’t know, something tells me you and I might have different definitions of things going well. Are you sure Future Me didn’t upset you? ‘Cause I’ll hella kick her ass.”  
  
Max laughs affectionately, then gives a start. “Oh! Right, hang on, I almost forgot.” Max pulls out Chloe’s notes.  
  
“Are you kidding me? I _just_ \--” She catches Max’s stern look. “Seriously, this is turning into homework…” She takes the notepad. As she reads, her jaw muscle clenches and unclenches, almost a twitch. Her eyes flick up and down the page, re-reading and assessing.  
  
“Well?” Max asks, nervous from the too-long silence. “What’s the verdict?”  
  
“You’ll be glad to know that you come off well, at least. Me, less so.” She hands back the notepad. “I think I get why we were crying, at least.” She wipes grains of sand from her arms. “Didn’t say anything about trying to throw you in the ocean, though. Sorry, anyway.”  
  
“It’s okay. Believe me, you were a way bigger mess.”  
  
“Yeah, I gathered that. I really jumped into the ocean, huh?”  
  
“Repeatedly. Just like when we were kids.”  
  
“Man, I haven’t done that in _years_. Uh, except I guess I just did. Did I have fun?”  
  
“You never wanted to stop.” Max touches the collar of Chloe’s jacket. “Lucky for you, your clothes rewind back to normal. Oh, by the way, you wanted me to remind you to remind me that the sand in my underpants is totally your fault.”  
  
A look of mild alarm crosses Chloe’s face. “I- Okay, I feel like Future Me left something out.”  
  
Max makes a broad gesture that encompasses her entire body. “Technically, the sand _everywhere_ in my clothes is your fault, but it’s the underpants that annoy me in particular.” She thinks for a few seconds. “Actually, my hoodie is probably my fault, since I took it off up here. But the rest of it’s all you.”  
  
“That hoodie really is a disaster. You wanna borrow a dry one?”  
  
“That would be amazing. I guess I’ve been walking by the water for over an hour, and it’s pretty chilly down there.”  
  
“Hang on, I’ve got you covered.” Chloe digs in the duffle bag with determination, then pulls out a familiar, well-worn red sweatshirt with a triumphant, “Ta da!”  
  
Max’s eyes open wide. She’d caught a glimpse of the tattered pullover when she’d looked through the bag but at the time had dismissed the idea that it could possibly be the same shirt. Seeing it now, unfurled and held out to her like a prize in all of its ratty glory, it’s unmistakable. “Holy crap! Is that really your old favorite sweatshirt??”  
  
“No shit, Sherlock. What, you don’t recognize it?”  
  
“Of course I do! But… didn’t you throw that out, like, five years ago?”  
  
“Who, me? Never!” Chloe smiles guiltily and gives a shy duck of her head. “You asked me not to. C’mere.” She helps Max to peel off her damp, gray hoodie and tosses it into the truck bed. “It hasn’t fit me in years, but you know me. Couldn’t just throw it out.” She pats the white griffin on the front and smiles at it like it’s an old friend. “And I figured I’d bring it, since… It might fit you okay.” She holds the old, red hoodie out to Max.  
  
It’s a little long on Max, sleeves hanging almost to her fingers, but it’s surprisingly cozy in spite of its many holes. It smells a little musty from disuse, but not unpleasantly so. Max sticks her hands in the wide front pocket to warm them, just as Chloe has done however many thousands of times before. “How’s it look?”  
  
There’s a faint hint of pink high on Chloe’s cheekbones. “Perfect.” She gives a small, nervous laugh. “You should keep it.”  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s just been hanging out in my closet forever since I outgrew it. It, uh, looks like a good fit for you, though.” Gently, she tugs the hood up over Max’s head. “You’ll take better care of it than I do. And it’ll keep you nice and warm.” She steps back and nods her head in approval. “Yeah, definitely. Keep it.”  
  
Max is filled with a warm, happy glow. “Thanks, Chloe. I promise I’ll take good care of it.”  
  
Chloe sweeps her hair back with an embarrassed but pleased smile. “So, anyway, now that the mushy stuff’s over with... What’s the plan for this round? Sounds like you’ve probably had your fill of ocean shots.”  
  
Max feels exhausted at the mere thought of another photoshoot. “Could we actually just hang out for a little while? I’m getting kind of tired, and I’m still pretty cold. It might be good to sit and relax for a few minutes.”  
  
“Oh! Yeah, sure, of course. How long have you been doing this, anyway?”  
  
Max shrugs wearily. “No clue. I lost track.”  
  
“Here, I’ve got an idea.” Chloe turns on the truck and puts on the radio. She only fusses with it for a minute, tuning it to a station that’s playing mellow indie folk music. She walks around the the front of the truck and beckons for Max to join her. Chloe pats the hood of the truck.  
  
Max gives her a suspicious look. “I already told you once, I am _not_ dancing on the hood with you. I will _definitely_ fall off.”  
  
Confusion passes swiftly over Chloe’s face, tinted with amusement. “No dancing, just sitting. It should get pretty warm in a minute. I can, um, help you up if it’s too high for you.”  
  
Normally Max would insist on doing it herself, if only to assert her independence, but there’s something in the way that Chloe offers her assistance - a kind of shy eagerness - that intrigues her. Besides, the idea of struggling awkwardly - and potentially falling off - in front of her right now isn’t especially appealing. “You know what? Sure.” Max leans her back against the truck.  
  
Chloe only looks taken aback for a second. “Okay, uh, cool!”  
  
Max braces her palms against the hood and one foot against the front bumper as Chloe approaches her with a look of intense concentration on her face. Chloe puts her hands over Max’s hips and pauses to scan Max’s face for any sign that she’s not okay with this. Max smiles encouragingly. Chloe’s expression relaxes. “Ready?”  
  
“You have _no_ idea.” Max didn’t mean to say that out loud, but the pleasantly startled look on Chloe’s face and the brief tightening of her hands on her hips is worth the mild embarrassment.  
  
Chloe lifts as Max pushes up, easing Max onto the hood. She doesn’t let go of her right away and Max doesn’t mind in the least. “Not gonna fall, are you?”  
  
“Off the truck? No, I think I’m alright.”  
  
Chloe just barely suppresses a smirk. She effortlessly hops up next to her, the truck groaning a little under their combined weight. “Should be warm in no time.”  
  
“Mm, that’s good. Thanks.” Max gives a big, showy yawn and stretches her arms, draping one over Chloe’s shoulders and pulling her closer on the return.  
  
“Nice move, Caulfield,” Chloe grins.  
  
“You should know: I’m taking a page out of your playbook.”  
  
“Touche.”  
  
“Speaking of which, the music’s a nice touch. Do you actually listen to this station, or is this just what you put on when you’re trying to impress hipsters?”  
  
“That depends. Is it working?”  
  
Max leans her head against Chloe’s and closes her eyes. “You don’t need music to impress me. It’s nice, though.”  
  
“Hey, don’t go falling asleep on me now.”  
  
“Mm, I don’t know, falling asleep on you sounds pretty good right now. That yawn was mostly for real.”  
  
Chloe slips her arm around Max’s waist, eliciting a contented, drowsy murmur. “Guess you overdid it, huh?”  
  
“I’ll be fine in a minute, I swear. I just wanna rest my eyes and be cozy for a bit.” It’s safe and dark under the hood of Chloe’s old sweatshirt. The music is soft and slow, practically a lullaby. The waves against the shore make a soothing susurrus beneath it, their rhythm in harmony with the rise and fall of Chloe’s breath as Max relaxes into her. The truck is warm beneath her, Chloe warm beside her. It would be absolute perfection if it weren’t for the tide of restless energy pulsing from Chloe and the constant impatient jiggling of her knee. Max sticks out a hand and presses down on Chloe’s leg to stop its jumping. “No moving,” she mumbles.  
  
“Can’t help it. I’ve had, like, five coffees today.”  
  
Max groans as Chloe’s leg starts jiggling again. “Are you kidding me?”  
  
“I’m trying to sit still, I swear.”  
  
“Why did you drink so much coffee?” Max whines tiredly.  
  
“I don’t know. Nervous, I guess.”  
  
“So you thought you’d pour some coffee on it??”  
  
“I never claimed to be a genius, Max.”  
  
“Uh, you’ve totally claimed to be a genius. Like, often. Tonight, even.” Max hefts her messenger bag onto her lap and opens it. “Here, why don’t you look at the pictures? It’ll give you something to do other than drive me up the wall.”  
  
“Holy shit! You really have been doing this for a long time. No wonder you’re so wiped out.”  
  
“Mhm. Now lemme nap in peace.” Despite all of her fussing about wanting to rest, Max finds she can’t resist peeking through her eyelashes at Chloe to see how she reacts to their pictures. Chloe’s been her biggest fan ever since she first took an interest in photography. With all of Max’s insecurities about her talents, seeing Chloe’s earnest admiration of her work always makes her feel like maybe she actually does have something to be proud of, after all. Basking quietly in the warmth of Chloe’s approval is more restorative than sleep, Max decides as she finds herself too interested in watching Chloe to keep her eyes closed for more than a few seconds at a time. “What do you think?” she asks after a few minutes, giving up on the pretense of sleep.  
  
“These are amazing, Max. You make me look so…” She shakes her head, unable to find the right words. “I don’t know. Special.” She looks uncomfortable but also pleased.  
  
“You _are_ special.”  
  
Chloe shrugs a little but doesn’t speak her disagreement out loud.  
  
Max snuggles more firmly into her shoulder, drawing her arm tighter around Chloe’s shoulders as her rebuttal to Chloe’s unspoken dissent. “Do you have a favorite one?”  
  
“Oh, man, I don’t even know… Some of these pirate ones are hella badass. And this one of me rocking out on top of the truck… Was that when I tried to get you to dance on the hood?”  
  
Max nods. She combs through the pile of photos spread across both of their laps and finds the one of rock star Chloe holding out her hand. “This one’s when you actually got me to dance with you.”  
  
“Nice. Score one for Chloe Price.”  
  
“And this one’s from dancing with you.”  
  
“Ahh, that makes sense…” The corner of Chloe’s mouth quirks up. “I wondered what you did to make me look at you like that.” She continues shuffling through the pictures and Max’s eyes drift shut again. “Okay, now what’s the story for _this_ one?”  
  
Max can hear the smirk in her voice and grudgingly opens her eyes again. Color immediately rushes to her cheeks when she sees the photograph Chloe is holding out to her.  
  
“The sand in your underwear is making more sense now.”  
  
Max pinches Chloe’s arm.  
  
“Seriously, though, I’m impressed. That is a total pin-up shot. Never thought I’d end up being your cheesecake model, you dog.”  
  
“It is _not_ a pin-up…”  
  
“Okay, sure, like this isn’t totally going in your spank bank when you get home.”  
  
“Chloe, oh my god…” Max hides her face in her palm.  
  
“Sounds about right.”  
  
“You are such an unbelievable asshole.”  
  
“You’re not exactly denying it.” Grinning triumphantly, Chloe continues going through the pictures.  
  
“That _isn’t_ what I took the picture for…”  
  
“ _Still_ not hearing a denial, Caulfield. At any rate, I’m impressed you were able to resist my wiles. I was clearly giving it my A-game.” Chloe turns to peer at Max, her eyebrow cocked as a question mark. “You did resist them, didn’t you?”  
  
“Get over yourself,” Max chuckles into Chloe’s shoulder. “Your A-game is pretty on point, though,” she admits, closing her eyes again. “Your wiles were surprisingly hard to resist.”  
  
“Oh, good. At least it wasn’t easy.” Chloe’s thumb strokes pensively against Max’s side a couple of times. “You know, as great as all these pictures are, I can’t help but feel like there’s something missing.”  
  
A smile dawns on Max’s lips. She knows what Chloe’s going to say, but she doesn’t interrupt her.  
  
The weight in Max’s messenger bag shifts. The shutter clicks.  
  
“Did you just…?”  
  
“You’re not the only one who can take selfies.”  
  
Max opens her eyes and takes the photograph from the camera. She and Chloe watch patiently as it begins to develop. “Not bad for an amateur,” Max teases.  
  
“Mm, yeah, it isn’t perfect. It doesn’t really capture the drool.” Chloe touches her fingers to Max’s chin.  
  
“I so wasn’t drooling,” Max protests. She lifts her head from Chloe’s shoulder and wipes her chin on her sleeve anyway. “It’s a nice picture, though. Technically not the best selfie, maybe, since you didn’t get that much of your face in it, but still. I like it.”  
  
“We can’t all be selfie prodigies, I guess.”  
  
“Hey, it takes skill to frame yourself with one of these.” Max pats the camera still in Chloe’s hand. “Anyone with a cell phone can take a halfway decent selfie, but with one of these it actually takes practice to get the framing right and--”  
  
“I believe you,” Chloe says laughingly. “You don’t need to give me a full lecture on it; I believe you. You’re talented. Anyone who can make me look that good has got to be.”  
  
Max rolls her eyes. “How many times am I going to have to tell you this tonight? It doesn’t take talent to make you look good.” She frames Chloe’s face in her hands. “It’s your stupid, beautiful _face_ , Chloe.”  
  
Chloe’s hand tightens on Max’s waist. “O-okay, well… I’ll make you a deal. I’ll admit I’m beautiful if you admit you’re talented.”  
  
“U-uh…”  
  
The shutter clicks. “Damn, you’re cute when you’re flustered. It isn’t even fair.” Chloe holds up the photograph as it develops. “I might have to hold onto this one. Photographic evidence of Max’s face when she knows I’m right.”  
  
Normally Max would make a cutting remark about how rarely she gets to make that face, but her hands are still cradling Chloe’s jaw and her heart is still pounding from telling Chloe that she’s beautiful and Chloe’s hand is still firm and warm on the curve of her hip and her brain isn’t quite up to its usual speed.  
  
“So, since you’re obviously falling down on the job as photographer for the night, you got any tips for an enthusiastic amateur?”  
  
Max blinks slowly. She lets go of Chloe’s face, feeling sure she’s been holding on for a suspiciously long time. “An… enthusiastic amateur what, now?”  
  
“Amateur photographer, dummy,” Chloe smirks. She removes her arm from around Max and holds up the camera with both hands. “Now’s the part where you get to show off your sick photography skillz and impress me with your highly technical knowledge. Or you can just make some shit up. I won’t know the difference.”  
  
“Oh, okay, in that case.” Max places her hands over Chloe’s and steers the camera. “This is the viewfinder. Whatever you see through there is what the picture’s going to look like, more or less. You can’t really use it for selfies, but if you use it enough you learn to have a sense of what’s going to be in frame or not.” She rotates the camera. “This is the lens. You point it at what you want a picture of. Pretty sure you know all this already.”  
  
“Yeah, but pretend I don’t. I like it when you talk like a photo nerd.”  
  
“This is the flash. It’s good if the light’s too low and there’s nothing reflective in the shot, but otherwise it can kind of wash things out. I wouldn’t use it when the light’s already beautiful like this.” Max taps the case of the camera. “And, of course, here’s the workshop where the magical elves that develop the pictures live.”  
  
Chloe gasps in mock horror. “You monster! No separate living quarters?” They both dissolve into giggles that go on for longer than they probably should. Max wonders briefly if this is what being high feels like. “Alright, for reals though, what’re your tips for taking rad as fuck pictures?”  
  
“Well, having a rad as fuck model helps a lot.”  
  
Chloe jostles Max’s shoulder with her own. “Check. What else?” She slips the photos back into the messenger bag and hops down from the hood. She holds the camera up to her face and keeps it trained on Max.  
  
“How much detail do you want?” Max slides herself off the hood and leans against it. “Because I can give you a whole spiel about the rule of thirds, negative space, exposure times…”  
  
“Ugh, not that much detail. Give me the highlights. What do _you_ do?”  
  
“Honestly? It’s… mostly instinct for me.”  
  
Chloe pulls her face back from the camera momentarily to look at her with surprise, then returns her eye to the viewfinder. “Really? I figured you more for the ‘carefully planning every step’ type.”  
  
“In most things, yes,” Max says cautiously, stepping away from the truck. “But when I’m behind the camera, it’s different. Everything’s clear. When the moment is right, I can feel it. No plan necessary.”  
  
“So, follow my instincts. Sounds doable.” Chloe slowly circles around Max. Max turns with her to keep her in view. “What else?”  
  
“There’s not much else to it, really… Just wait for the right moment, and when you find it, take your shot.” She brushes back the hood of Chloe’s old sweatshirt.  
  
Chloe snaps her picture. “Like that?”  
  
“If it was the right moment, sure.”  
  
“No idea.” Max can see Chloe grinning behind the camera as she continues circling around her. “I’m surprised you’re the photographer instead of me, if all it takes is being impulsive.”  
  
Max closes the distance between them and plucks the photo from the camera. She gives the photo an unnecessary but satisfying flick of the wrist and slips it into the hoodie’s front pocket. “You’re not the only one who can be impulsive, you know.”  
  
Chloe stumbles back a step, thrown off-balance by Max’s sudden closeness, and almost bumps into the truck. “Uhm. Yeah?” She’s watching Max intently through the viewfinder with one eye, the other tightly closed to help her focus. Her grin has softened into something smaller, something less sure of itself but equally playful, tinged with anticipation. Still glowing in the golden light, she’s every bit as beautiful behind the camera as she is in front of it. Even so, Max can’t stand not being able to look into her eyes. The camera obscures her face and muffles her expression, and it is absolutely maddening.  
  
And Max cannot. Fucking. _Take it_. Anymore.  
  
Her voice drops low. “Put down the camera and I’ll show you.”  
  
Chloe’s not sure she’s ever put anything down so quickly without breaking it before.  
  
Max steps in, replacing the camera with her hands, and she takes her shot.  
  
Chloe tastes like cigarettes, but she smells like the ocean. Max sinks into her, threading her fingers into the impossible blue of her hair and pulling her close. Chloe’s hands are strong and warm at the small of her back, holding her steady.  
  
Max leans back after a minute, not letting go, and searches Chloe’s face to make sure they’re still on the same page and that she hasn’t skipped ahead a chapter or two. Her gaze is met by eager blue eyes and a smile that’s equal parts excitement and bliss. Chloe lets out a soft, shaky laugh. “Holy shit, Max. I take back what I said before: this is _definitely_ going well. This is going really, _really_ well.”  
  
“Told you so.” Max tugs gently on Chloe’s hair to angle her head and dives in again.  
  
A few minutes later, Chloe gently pulls away and starts reaching for Max’s messenger bag. “Hold that thought a second,” she murmurs.  
  
“What’re you…?”  
  
Chloe fumbles around in the bag with one hand, keeping the other fastened to Max’s hip. When she finally digs out the notepad, Max eyes her incredulously. “What?” she says. “I don’t want to forget this.” She reluctantly removes her other hand so she can write.  
  
“You don’t need to do that,” Max assures her. “Didn’t Future You tell you?”  
  
“Tell me what?” She returns the paper and pencil to the bag and replaces her hands on Max’s hips.  
  
Max lightly runs one hand down the side of Chloe’s face, brushing her thumb softly over her lips. “That I won’t rewind a kiss.”  
  
Chloe smiles and kisses Max’s thumb, raising her eyebrows. “Yeah?”  
  
“Well, you did make me promise not to rewind if anything really awesome happened, so I figured macking on you qualifies,” Max says, only partly teasing.  
  
“It _definitely_ qualifies,” Chloe affirms, bending to press a soft kiss to Max’s lips. “Mm, I get to keep this,” she sighs happily. “I get to _keep_ this. How did I get so lucky?” She gazes down at Max, sun gold behind her head, eyes warm and gentle, a contented smile playing on lips still glistening. Her smile is an invitation, but it’s a patient one. She wants to kiss her again (and again and again) but for now she’s content to simply look at her, to revel in this moment of closeness.  
  
Max wants this moment to last forever. She picks up the camera from the hood of the truck. Chloe lifts a hand to comb her fingers through Max’s hair, smiling indulgently. The shutter clicks. “Best picture of the day,” Max declares as she plucks the photo from the camera and puts them both into the messenger bag.  
  
“It hasn’t even developed yet.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll title it ‘Chloe Wants to Kiss Me Again.’ When I’m a famous photographer it’ll be worth a million dollars.” She cups the back of Chloe’s neck. “But I won’t sell it.”  
  
Chloe laughs and pulls Max in for another kiss. Max meets her enthusiastically.  
  
“So,” Chloe grins when they part again, “What does the famous photographer want to do now that she’s not going to keep rewinding the golden hour? Dinner and a movie? Go out dancing? Drive around town and shoot the shit? Or do you need to go home and get some rest? You seemed pretty wiped out earlier.” She pecks Max on the lips. “Although you seem much more, um, _alert_ now.”  
  
“Honestly?” Max runs her fingers through Chloe’s blue hair and looks deep into her equally blue eyes. She can still taste the salt of the ocean air on her lips. “I kinda feel like I want to throw myself in the ocean.”  
  
“Seriously? Because that can be arranged. Like, so easily.”  
  
Max collapses against Chloe’s shoulder in a sudden and uncontrollable fit of giggles. She should probably take a cold shower, she tells herself, but hey, a dip in the cold ocean should have the same effect. “Fuck it. Yeah, let’s do that.”  
  
Without a second’s hesitation, Chloe grabs her by the hand and starts running toward the water. A moment later, she skids to a halt. “Wait, wait, wait.” She empties her pockets into the truck bed, her phone clanging against the metal along with her keys, her lighter, and her wallet.  
  
“Good call.” Max follows her lead. She laughs as Chloe yanks off her boots and starts running again.  
  
“Last one in’s a scurvy dog!” Chloe calls over her shoulder.  
  
“Oh my god, this is _such_ a bad idea,” Max laughs as she pulls off her shoes and chases after her.  
  
Chloe slows and turns around, jogging backwards in bare feet. “It’s your idea, and I love it! Don’t chicken out on me now, Long Max Silver!”  
  
Max rushes to catch up with her. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. If my clothes weren’t wrecked _before_ …”  
  
“Who knows, it might actually be an improvement. Hey, maybe it’ll wash the sand out of your underpants!”  
  
Max snorts. Before she can say anything else, Chloe throws her arms around her and hefts her off the ground. She squeals and wraps her legs around Chloe’s hips.  
  
“No cowards on my crew! I’ll throw ye to the sharks!” She begins taking long, heavy strides toward the water. She drops the pirate voice. “Anyway, it’s not like I don’t literally have a bag of clothes sitting in the truck if you need something to change into. They’ll be kinda big on you and you’ll have to go commando, but...” She waggles her eyebrows teasingly. “I won’t complain.”  
  
“You are the absolute most ridiculous person.”  
  
Chloe pauses at the shore, waves washing up just short of her feet. “On the other hand,” she says with a devious smile, “if you’re really that worried about it, there’s an easy way to make sure our clothes don’t get ruined.”  
  
“Chloe, I am _not_ going skinny-dipping on our first date!”  
  
“Okay, fair enough. What about our second?”  
  
“Chloe…”  
  
“Otters don’t swim in clothes, Max. It’s a scientific fact. You can’t argue with science.”  
  
Max attempts to glare at her, but she’s smiling too hard for it to be particularly effective. Before she can come up with a retort, Chloe charges ahead, plunging them both into the waves. As the gold of the sky gives way to crimson and rose, Max and Chloe throw themselves into the ocean again and again. It lifts them up, tossing them head over heels, and washes them into the sand where they lay - laughing and sometimes kissing - until they’re ready to get up and dive back in. Over and over, they dive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end, even when you've got rewind powers (which I don't). This is the last full chapter of The Golden Hour, and I've been dragging my feet on it, not wanting it to end. I hope you've all been enjoying this journey as much as I have. Final chapter will be mostly comprised of Chloe's notes, some of Max's photos, and perhaps a brief epilogue if I can think of one. Since it's going to be pretty drawing-heavy and therefore more than usually time-consuming, it'll probably be more than a week before it goes up. As I mentioned in the previous chapter's notes, if there's a photo from this story you particularly want to see rendered, let me know and I'll do my best to make it happen.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been reading this story, especially to those of you who've been leaving comments and kudos; you've really made writing this such a rewarding experience. I'm preparing to launch another multi-chapter story in the near future, and though its tone is definitely not as warm and fluffy overall, there will still be lots of pricefield flirting goodness, so I hope you'll stay tuned. And since I've loved writing this so much, I'm considering potentially turning this into a series and expanding into other Max and Chloe time-travel dating adventures if people are interested and if I can come up with enough ideas. So there might be that to look forward to as well.


	6. Epilogue and Gallery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to the Golden Hour, Max’s photo gallery, and Chloe’s notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that definitely took more than a week. Thank you to everyone for your patience!

Epilogue (part one):

 

“Whose terrible idea was this, anyway?”  
  
“It was your idea, and it was fucking brilliant.”  
  
“Yeah, right up to the part where we both freeze our butts off. You were wrong about the sand, by the way. That did _not_ wash it out.”  
  
“Well, at least you’re not alone in your misery anymore.”  
  
“Small consolation, but I’ll take it.”  
  
“And anyway, isn’t that the mark of a good date: awkward chafing?”  
  
“Ew, what? Chloe!”  
  
“Just kidding! Mostly. So, where to next?”  
  
“Ugh, back to Blackwell, I guess. I need to get changed and I _definitely_ need a shower.”  
  
“Oh, okay. Yeah, that makes sense...”  
  
“Why, what did you have in mind? Dinner at Two Whales? Sneak me back to your place for ‘ _Blade Runner_ and chill?’ Break into the Blackwell pool again?”  
  
“Y’know, I know you’re teasing, but ‘ _Blade Runner_ and chill’ does sound pretty good now that you mention it.”  
  
“Did I mention the chafing, Chloe? Because I’m not sitting through a two hour movie with sand in my underpants.”  
  
“Okay, one: it’s technically less than two hours--”  
  
“By, like, three minutes!!”  
  
“Nerd alert! Two: there’s an easy solution to your underpants problem.”  
  
“First date, Chloe. I’m not that easy.”  
  
“Oh, like I am? I just mean we’ve got a shower at my place, too. You can borrow some of my pjs, we’ll microwave some popcorn…”  
  
“That… _does_ sound really nice, actually.”  
  
“So, is that a yes?”  
  
“Make it _Final Fan_ \--”  
  
“Urgh, Max, why?”  
  
“-- _tasy: the Spirits Within_ and you’ve got a date.”  
  
“Max, why do you always want to watch the same movie? _Boring_.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were trying to convince me to come over but now you’re calling me boring, so obviously--”  
  
“C’mon, I didn’t mean--”  
  
“Also, talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Do you even own any movies other than _Blade Runner_?”  
  
“Of _course_ I-- You’re the one who _suggested_ \-- Okay, okay, whatever, we can… fuck, I dunno, flip a coin when we get back to my place or something. Deal? Sci-Fi and chill?”  
  
“Hmmm… Let me dig through your collection for a compromise movie and you have a deal. Sci-Fi and chill.”  
  
“ _Yes_!”  
  
“But, like, _actually_ chill, right? Not ‘chill’?”  
  
“You know I have zero chill, right? But no, for reals: old school movie night, pjs and popcorn, I’ll keep my hands to myself like a true gentleman.”  
  
“Then it’s a date.”  
  
“Sweet! So… Does that then technically count as our second date, or is it still our first? Just checking. For… science.”  
  
“Uh-huh, science, okay. Still our first date.”  
  
“Mm, I see… So - again, for science - how much macking on you is permissible on a first date?”  
  
“Oh, lots of it. _So_ much.”  
  
“Yeah…?”  
  
“Mm, _yeah_ … Um, but Chloe?”  
  
“Mhmm…?”  
  
“Can it wait ‘til we actually get there? I’m not kidding about these clothes being uncomfortable.”  
  
“As you wish. Let’s roll!”

 

\---

Max's Photo Gallery:

 

\---

Epilogue (part two):

 

“Okay, _this_ terrible idea was all yours.”  
  
“What? Seriously, Max? You asked for a recommendation!”  
  
“Because your movie collection is a _mess_! I asked for something Sci-Fi and gay, not… space horror.”  
  
“Hey, _Alien: Resurrection_ totally fits the criteria you gave me. It just also happens to be horror. Anyway, it’s the gayest Sci-Fi I own.”  
  
“Do they kiss, at least?”  
  
“Not exactly, but they’re hella hot for each other. It’s obvious.”   
  
“ _Uggghhh_ … Seriously, this is the gayest Sci-Fi you own and they don’t even _kiss_?? It’s just, what, queer subtext?”  
  
“I know, right? Such a tease.”  
  
“Totally unfair. If I have to sit through all the gore and jump scares and everything, there should at _least_ be some kissing.”  
  
“I completely agree. Move the popcorn bowl out of the way and we can remedy the situation ourselves.”  
  
“ _Smooth_ , Price. Is that why you chose this awful movie? So you could lay a corny pick-up line on me?”  
  
“Nope, I just know a make out opportunity when I see it. Now c’mere, I’ve gotta check something for science. Wha-- _Hey!_ ”  
  
“You deserved it! I have no regrets!”  
  
“ _Maaaax_! No throwing popcorn in bed! Aw, man, my sheets are gonna be all crunchy now.”  
  
“At least now they’ll be as corny as you are.”  
  
“Oh, ha ha, you think you’re pretty cute with the puns, huh?”  
  
“What happens if I say ‘yes’? Are you gonna _PUN_ ish me?”  
  
“I believe you're about to find out, Max Caulfield.”  
  
“ _Eek_! Help! I’m being chased by a mad scientist!”  
  
“We prefer the ter-- _mmfph_!”  
  
*several thoroughly tested hypotheses and the rest of an ambiguously gay and unambiguously gory movie later*  
  
“I cannot believe you made me watch that whole movie…”  
  
“To say you ‘watched’ the whole thing is a bit of an exaggeration.”  
  
“The alien burst out of his chest and _through a man’s **head**_ , Chloe! It was kind of hard to miss! And now I can’t unsee it. Oh, god...”  
  
“Hey, I did my best to distract you.”  
  
“Yeah, well, next time I’m picking what we do on our date.”  
  
“So, something insufferably hipstery, then. You’re not gonna take me to one of those expensive-ass restaurants where I have to assemble my own meal, are you?”  
  
“...Do they even have those in Arcadia Bay?”  
  
“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. And I’m a little worried that I’m not hearing a ‘no’ on that one...”  
  
“No, Chloe, I’m not going to take you to a deconstructed restaurant for our second date.”  
  
“Hrm, I hear a loophole in there.”  
  
“You hear correctly.”  
  
“You know what, that’s actually fine. Use all the loopholes you want.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Fuck yeah. I don’t care if you take me to pick heirloom tomatoes raised in organic goatshit on our next date; I’m just glad you want another one. Plus, more loopholes means more dates.”  
  
“That’s… sweet, I guess?”  
  
“You know me, Max. Hella romantic.”

 

\---

 

Chloe's Notes:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing has been such an unbelievably positive experience for me, and that is mostly thanks to all of you who have been reading it and sending me your lovely comments. To be able to see something I’ve made connecting with people and bringing them joy has been absolutely incredible. 
> 
> This may officially be the end of the Golden Hour, but as I continue working on the much heavier “Now That the World is Over” I know that I will still need a fluffy universe to retreat into from time to time. With this in mind, I’m going to double-down on my previous note about spinning this out into a series. Expect more fluff-filled dates from these two, though probably not this epic. Stay tuned.
> 
> For updates on this series and other fics, random grumblings about writing, and occasional sneak peeks of things I’m working on, follow me on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ghost-in-the-hella Thanks again to all of my readers (commenters and otherwise), and thanks to my partner Velmax for all of your help with this and every fic.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a few longer LiS projects in the works which involve much heavier lifting both emotionally and logistically, so this was supposed to be a fun little one-shot to give me a break. As it spun out to over 9,000 words and counting, I realized it would probably be a more comfortable read (and easier to edit) in bite-sized chunks. Expect it to be roughly 5 chapters in total.
> 
> Being in grad school is basically like having your ego kicked in the shins every couple of days, so kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.


End file.
